“Under the rocks!” cried Toppy. “You don’t mean to say there was anybody under that cave-in!”
“Is yet,” was the laconic reply. “One of ’em was caught ’way inside. Whole roof on top of him. Won’t find him till the pit’s emptied.”
Toppy struggled a moment to speak quietly.
“Which one was it, do you know?” he asked.
“Oh, it was that old brown-complected fellow,” said the carpenter. “That old Bohunk guy with the big rings in his ears.”
Reivers came to the shop at his customary time in the evening, nothing in his manner containing a hint that anything unusual had happened during the day. He found a solemn and silent pair, for Campbell had sought relief from the day’s tragedy in his customary manner and sat in the light of the student-lamp steadily reading his Bible, while Toppy, in a dark corner, sat with his great shoulders hunched forward, his folded hands before him, and stared at the floor. Reivers paused in the doorway, his cold smile broadening as he surveyed the pair.
“Poker to-night—doctor?” he said softly, and the slur in his tones was like blasphemy toward all that men hold sacred.
“No, by ——, no!” growled Toppy.
Laughing lightly, Reivers closed the door and came across the room.
“What? Aren’t you going to give me my revenge—doctor?” The manner in which he accented “doctor” was worse than an open insult.