She had the paper in her hand, reading the article before Dr. Morgan had time to reply. It was a full resumé of the trouble at Bitumen from early fall until the present, telling of the threatened attack upon Superintendent Hobart and the new miners and the call for State troops. The correspondent prophesied that the militia could not arrive in time to prevent bloodshed, the capital being two hundred miles from the scene of trouble, and the railway up the mountain having already been destroyed by the miners.
Nora grasped the meaning instantly. There was no mention made of the name of Dennis O’Day. He was not a miner. In the eyes of the world, he had no power. Miners themselves did not realize that it was he alone who instigated the strike, and that their leaders had been his choice. Outwardly, Dennis O’Day had washed his hands of the whole affair. So long as he escaped legal responsibility, he would shrug his shoulders, and stand by to watch the fight. He could be eliminated without effecting the result. But Nora O’Day, who understood her father as no one else had ever understood him, saw his work here. She knew that for years he had been the unseen moving power.
The bubble of laughter and fun was about her. She looked up piteously into Dr. Morgan’s face, her lips trembling with emotion. She loved her father. Shame and fear for him overwhelmed her.
“I—I know—some—some people there. That is why I—I was anxious.”
“I wish you would not mention the matter to anyone. We see no reason to distress Miss Hobart unnecessarily. Her knowing the condition of affairs would result in needless worry without helping matters any.”
“Why—Elizabeth—is she—has she—”
“Her father, you know, Miss O’Day, is the superintendent of the Bitumen mines.”
At that Nora O’Day gave a startled cry, and buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t—know—I didn’t know. Poor Elizabeth—” she sobbed.
Her behavior was claiming the attention of others. To shield her from the attention of the passing throng, Dr. Morgan drew her within the private office. She anticipated comforting an hysterical girl. But in a moment Miss O’Day controlled herself.
“When will the troops reach Bitumen?” she asked, drawing herself up, afire with purpose.