“Yes, looks like I ought to,” Bruce replied ironically.
The quicksilver came through the pores of the skin in a shower of shining globules.
Banule’s expression of lively interest in the process was gradually replaced by one of bewilderment as with every twist the contents kept squeezing through until it looked as though there would be no residue left. It was a shock even to Bruce, who was prepared for it, when he spread the chamois skin on a rock and looked at the ball of amalgam which it contained.
Banule stared at it, open-mouthed.
“What’s the matter? Where’s it gone? And out of all that dirt!”
Bruce shook his head; his voice was barely audible:
“I don’t know.” The sagging clouds were not heavier than his heart—“I wish I did.”
Banule stood a moment in silent sympathy.
“Guess you won’t work any more to-day,” he suggested.
“Yes; tell Smaltz to start,” Bruce answered dully.