. . . . .

The sub-editors’ room gave a yawn and a grunt Piddle had done a nippy bit work stealing the photo of that drowned Edwards bloke. Any chance of a few of the bobbies being coshed good and proper in the next few days?—half a dozen of them drowned would make a good spread. Damned neat stunt that pepper-throwing, the Chief would blame it on the Reds for sure. Tell the boy to get out Trease’s photo, bet he was under arrest by now—

. . . . .

Chris read the news and thought, far away, Awful…. Three more days to decide on this house.

. . . . .

The Cowgate read it and a queer sound started, in tenement and wynd and went wriggling on like the passage of a flying train of powder, twisting and glistering and louping to and fro, back to Footforthie, up to Kirrieben, a growl of laughing and cursing, Christ, some Bulgar had dealt with the bobbies fine. And hungry Broo men that had made up their minds to sneak down to Gowans and into the gate and try and steal one of the striker’s jobs gave a bit rub at their hunger-swollen bellies—ah well, they must try the PAC again—

. . . . .

Jim Trease the Red leader gave a roar of a laugh and called to his wife to bring him his boots. They’ll be coming for me in an hour or so. Get on with the breakfast, will you, lass, I’ll ll be hungry enough before they finish their questioning down at the Station. His mistress said What, are they after you again? placid as you please, he’d had so much arresting off and on in his life that she thought no more of him marched off to jail than when he marched off to the WC. And what have your gowks been doing now?

He told her and she said that sounded gey clever, that pepper business, and Jim Trease puffed Clever? Some idiot loon has been reading a blood. What we need are the masses with machine-guns, not pepper…. To hell, and I suppose if they heard me say that they’d chuck me out of the Communist Party!

. . . . .

Ewan said to Alick Watson he thought he’d more sense—who’d bought the pepper, Alick himself or that dirty little swine Geordie Bruce?

Ellen met in with Ewan after dinner that day, he’d come up from watching the pickets at Gowans, the bobbies were keeping them aye on the move, a great birn of folk had been there all forenoon. He told Ellen this as they went out together, she to her school and he back to Gowans, in the clearing weather she looked up in his face, he down at hers—queer what a thrill that faint line of down sent through one, funny biological freak, thought the old-time Ewan that wasn’t quite dead—

You can kiss me inside this nook, she said, light-heartedly; and when he’d finished kissed him in return in a sudden terror: Oh, Ewan, be careful down at the Docks. I’m—I’m frightened for you!