“But that’s not all,” protested Tommy. “Somebody’s got to take care of father and mother and Johnny.”
Jabez threw up his hands with a gesture of despair.
“What ails the boy?” he cried. “D’ y’ s’pose any man’s goin’ t’ starve in this free an’ enlightened country? Why, th’ superintendent up at the mine told me yesterday thet he counted on givin’ Remington a job es watchman.”
Now, the superintendent had really told him that, but only after much pressing, of which Jabez said never a word.
Tommy stood staring at the kindly eyes and severe face, trying to understand it.
“Now are y’ goin’ t’ stop interferin’ with my business?” demanded Jabez.
“I can’t,” faltered Tommy, again. “I’ve no claim.”
At that instant the mine whistle blew shrilly; but the boy felt an iron hand on his arm that held him to the spot.
“Don’t go,” said Jabez. “Come ’long with me down t’ th’ house, an’ I’ll show y’ whether there’s any claim. Come on.”
His voice was no longer harsh. It was soft, almost gentle. The boy began dimly to understand what was going on in this man’s heart, and followed him down the hill without a word, without a thought of resistance. Jabez led him straight to an upper room fitted up as a kind of office. Tommy caught a glimpse of another room beyond through the half-open door.