Gallon shuffled his bare feet on the hot boards. “We hev been thinkin',” he began in a throaty cockney voice, “that since ye was not mate to begin with——” he looked back over the crowd toward the real leader, Caradoc, for moral support.
The men gave Smith an opening toward the American. In the oppressive heat of the crowded, lamp-lit room everyone was crimson and dripping except Caradoc, whose face was curiously bloodless beneath its sunburn.
“If you are spokesman, Smith, what do you want?” demanded Leonard with rising inflection.
“We are all workmen together,” began Caradoc with an obvious effort, panting in the heat. “We're working together, living together, roasting together in this awful furnace. Your authority was only meant for a few days. Now the Vulcan is gone. Nobody knows for how long. We think all men should share and share alike.”
“All this demonstration to tell me you want me to eat at the regular mess?”
“No,” quivered Caradoc, “it's not just eating.
