I don't like this. The atmosphere's too charged with victory.
I don't believe they even know it's cold.
It's wonderful the way he's handled things. It's that, I think, as much as anything That's won the confidence of the citizens. I was just sure they'd have a riot here.
(_He gets up on one of the stools before the desk and takes from his overcoat pocket a newspaper which he spreads out before him_)
I've thought about it, Bishop; don't you think That that injunction Egerton got out Against the mine, considering everything, The public feeling--if he has good grounds For claiming that his own men found the mine-- Aside from the reflection on his son-- A tactical mistake, don't you think so?
(_He reads the paper. The Bishop stands listening to the indistinct noises that come from the crowd outside_)
And yet you can't blame Jergens very much. Something has got to happen pretty soon. Amalgamated's off again, I see.
He's the rough That kept the men from going back that day. Drew his revolver. Big man here now. You see He'd been out on the mountains with a cast, One of the men the Company had out. So it's quite possible, as Jergens claims, That Anderson found the mine. For gold these days-- To get possession of a mine like that-- Men have been killed for less.
That, That's what I can't get down me, his collusion----
It's probably Anderson haranguing them. I don't myself believe that Harry'd do it.
What's it all mean? What's underneath it all?
We're neither of us, Bishop, what we were. We've lost our power. Something's happening That we don't understand.
And done by men That live right here and walk the streets and talk, Buy vegetables and pass the time of day. I tell you, Bishop Hardbrooke, you can't tell.
As though they had the Ark of the Covenant.
If any one had said to me last week That that despondent crowd of shabby men, After six weeks of battle against odds, And beaten into silence, starved and cold, Had in them the capacity for this-- Who was it said we're always in a flux, That nothing's fixed? We don't know anything. It's like a case of type; to-day it spells Egerton and to-morrow M-o-b. To think of Donald Egerton at bay! Egad!
These shouts once rose about the Church, But somehow we don't hear them any more.