Alick said that it meant she could give him less of her lip, Christ, wasn’t there even a cup of tea? And him on picket the morn’s morning.

Meg was wearied from her work at Windmill Place, she said he could get the tea for himself, he’d have plenty of time for cookery classes now he was out on his half-witted strike. And who did he expect would keep him, eh? Father or herself or that Red sod Selden? She’d aye known that Alick was a silly gawpus, she could bet they hadn’t ALL come out on strike.

Alick said she could bet herself blue in the face, they’d all come out that had any guts excepting a few of the sods in the office. Meg said she was glad Mr Tavendale and his like had more sense, Alick stared at her and then gave a laugh: Ewan Tavendale? Why, you silly bitch, it’s him that’s organized the whole mucking strike—he’s been going it for weeks now, him and his League. They’d never have brought off the strike at all if it hadn’t been for the speeding-up as well—chaps doing double work in the same spread of time. And we’re all out the morn and the whole damn business led by your Mr Tavendale, see?

Then he said in a minute he was awful sorry—I didn’t mean to vex you, Meg. And she snuffled and dabbed at her eyes, making out she’d a cold, she hadn’t—what had he said, what was wrong with her? And he glowered at his sister in the littered, cold room, with the rags on the beds and the rickety chairs, something about her looked queer to a chap….

Why should she greet when he spoke about Ewan?

Stephen Selden, the lodger, came in at that minute, Alick told him the news, he was fair delighted. He said that the Communist local would help, they’d take over the running from this daft young League. Alick asked what the hell it had to do with the Communists—or Tavendale’s League, if it came to that? It was only the concern of the Gowans chaps. But Selden said it was every worker’s affair that another was fighting for his livelihood and to put down the manufacture of armaments. He himself would be along at the picketing the morn.

And there sure enough he was at the gates with a birn of others when the morning broke, a crowd of Broo chaps from all over Duncairn standing about easy and looking at the gates and watching the half-dozen men on picket. Folk took a bit dander across the calsays and cried out to ask what the strike was about? The pickets said there was a statement to be issued soon, they’d nothing to say until that was done. And they stood and gowked at the gates, damned cold, or looked back up the streets to the fug of Footforthie, Alick and Norman and the new Stores chap, Bob, two old men who worked in Machines, and a young chap who looked like a toff, folk thought, ’twas said he was a gent who worked in the Office. Whatever could he be doing on strike?