The yells which were coming from farther along the stope, the crackling blows, all told that Harry was getting along exceedingly well.

Glancing out of a corner of his eye, Fairchild saw now that the big Cornishman had Taylor Bill flat on his back and was putting on the finishing touches.

And then suddenly the exultant yells changed to ones of command.
"Talk English! Talk English, you bloody blighter! 'Ear me, talk English!" "What's he mean ?" Anita bent close to Fairchild.
"I don't know--I don't think Taylor Bill can talk anything else.

Put your finger on this knot while I tighten it.

Thanks." Again the command had come from farther on: "Talk English! 'Ear me--I'll knock the bloody 'ell out of you if you don't.