"I'm so glad you're up here—where it's so clean and quiet," said the mother. "I'm told these mining towns are dreadful, almost barbaric, even yet. Of course they're not as they were in Bret Harte's time, but they are said to be rough and dangerous. I hope you don't have to go down there often."
"Of course I have to go, mother. We get all our supplies and our mail down there."
"I suppose that's true. But Mr. Kelley seems such a strong, capable person"—here she whispered—"but I don't think much of your other partner, Mr. Stoddard."
"Who? Old Hank? Why, he's steady as a clock. He looks rough, but he's the kindest old chap on the hill. Why, he's scared to death of you and Flo—"
"He has the appearance of a neglected old bachelor."
"Well, he isn't. He has a wife and seven children back in Tennessee—so he says."
"Fred," said Florence, sharply, "I hope you aren't playing off on these partners of yours."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—letting them do all the hard and disagreeable work."
Kelley interposed. "Don't you worry about us, miss. We aren't complaining. We can't do the part he does. He does all the buying and selling—and—correspondence—and the like of that. But come, it's pretty near noon. I reckon we'd better drift along to Mrs. Finnegan's. The first table is bad enough in our boarding-place."