They silenced his objections, and sent for Grenfell, who appeared disconcerted for a moment when he heard what they had to say. Then he laughed somewhat harshly.
“Well,” he said, “I’ll be glad to do it, and I don’t mind admitting that the offer is a relief to me.”
They strolled away by and by, and Grenfell made a little grimace as he looked at Weston.
“When I can tell how the ore should pan out by a glance at the dump, and plot just how the vein should run, it’s disconcerting to find that the only way I can earn a living is by washing and mending,” he said. “In fact,” and he spread out his hands, “the thing’s humiliating.”
To a certain extent Weston sympathized with him. The man, it seemed, had been a famous assayer, and now the one capability which was of any use to him was that of neatly mending holes in worn-out garments. He undertook the task cheerfully, however, and things went smoothly for a week or two. Then a stranger, who appeared to be a man of authority, arrived at the camp. He was a young man, who looked opinionative, and when he first appeared was dressed in city clothes. Soon after his arrival he strolled around the workings with the man whom Weston hitherto had regarded as the manager. When he spoke sharply to one or two of the men, the driller who worked with Weston snorted expressively.
“Colvin puts the work through, but that’s the top boss,” he said. “You can see it all over him. Learned all about mining back east in the cities, and couldn’t sink a hole for a stick of giant-powder to save his life. Been down at Vancouver fixing up with the directors what they’re going to tell the stockholders. Still, I guess he’s not going to run this company’s stock up very much.”
“How’s that?” Weston asked.
The man lowered his voice confidentially.
“Well,” he said, “there’s a good deal in mining that you can’t learn from books, and a little you can’t learn at all. It has to be given you when you’re born. Colvin’s a hustler, but that’s ’bout all he is, and I’ve a kind of notion they aren’t going to bottom on the richest of this vein. Anyway, it’s not my call. They wouldn’t listen to me.”
Weston’s gesture might have expressed anything. He naturally had been favored with hints of this kind while he followed other somewhat similar occupations, for it is not an uncommon thing for the men who toil with the drill and shovel to feel more or less convinced that those set over them are not going about the work in the right way. He had also more than once seen this belief proved warranted. His companion’s suggestions, however, were borne out when he sat smoking with Grenfell in the bush after supper.