The jubilant colliery owner
and his merry men took care to pass the Fairburn pit, with frantic
cheerings and hallooings.
"What does it all mean?" George, who was in charge in the absence of
his father, inquired of the old overlooker of the colliery.
"It means beer, George," the ancient replied, "beer and froth, and
nothing else."
"Nothing else! I hope that is a true word, Saunders, that's all. I
mislike the looks of some of those fellows."
"Why, to judge from all the whispers we hear," the overlooker
commented, "we are like enough to get our backs well hazelled before
long."
George gave a word of caution to the pitmen when they left work that
afternoon.
"There are sure to be insults," he said, "but take no notice, and keep
out of harm's way."
But the fates were against George and his pit that day. Hardly had the
little gang of Fairburn colliers turned the corner of the lane when
they were met by an excited mob carrying a huge sheet on which was
rudely printed in big characters, "Down with all Whigs!"
"An insult to the gaffer, that's as plain as the nose on a man's
face," cried one of the Fairburn fellows, and without more ado, he
dashed forward and made a grab at the offending canvas. He was
forestalled, however, a man of the opposing party deftly tripping him
up and sending him sprawling into the mud.
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