of his body came with a shock into his head. Soon after him an old man landed a little to his side and rolled over. The ground was spread with cinders, and as he lay all rolled up in a ball on top of them you would have thought it was a cicada’s cast-off skin. Yamaguchi himself, at the instant of jumping, felt as though he was being rolled up into a ball.
“Are you all right?” He put out a hand to the old man, who straightened his back. It was Niemon.
“Maybe to-night’s the last we’ll be together,” whispered this man who had the old mother and father he could not get rid of. “We must be prepared!”
When he heard how determined even the father of that girl was, Yamaguchi felt his muscles contract. Were they going to let themselves be pushed back to the old miserable state of affairs when their fathers had to steal food if they were to feed their old parents and their young children? Or were they going to smash all that?
To-night, to-night of all nights, they must acquit themselves well! It didn’t matter if he himself had to die.
The scabs, like a wave that has receded, collected their strength, and then rose up in a second fierce wave, pressing in on the strikers. They threw themselves madly at this oncoming wave. Machida was at the head, shaking a knotty club. The two forces clashed just at the open space in front of the barrelling-shop. Yamaguchi and Niemon, almost crushed between the two crowds, were capsized in
