She felt that
something big was happening. At the factory gates a throng of women
were discussing the affair in shrill voices. When the three pushed
into the yard, they found themselves in the thick of a crowd buzzing
and humming in excitement. The mother saw that all heads were turned
in the same direction, toward the blacksmith's wall, where Sizov,
Makhotin, Vyalov, and five or six influential, solid workingmen were
standing on a high pile of old iron heaped on the red brick paving of
the court, and waving their hands.
"Vlasov is coming!" somebody shouted.
"Vlasov? Bring him along!"
Pavel was seized and pushed forward, and the mother was left alone.
"Silence!" came the shout from various directions. Near by the
even voice of Rybin was heard:
"We must make a stand, not for the kopeck, but for justice. What
is dear to us is not our kopeck, because it's no rounder than any
other kopeck; it's only heavier; there's more human blood in it
than in the manager's ruble. That's the truth!"
The words fell forcibly on the crowd and stirred the men to hot
responses:
"That's right! Good, Rybin!"
"Silence! The devil take you!"
"Vlasov's come!"
The voices mingled in a confused uproar, drowning the ponderous whir
of the machinery, the sharp snorts of the steam, and the flapping
of the leather belts.
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