"Go on," Michael replied absent-mindedly. "Potch ..." he he added, and stopped to listen.
There was a muffled rumbling and sound of someone calling in the distance. It came from Roy O'Mara's drive, on the other side of the mine.
"Hullo!" Michael called.
"That you, Michael?" Roy replied. "I'm comin' through."
His head appeared through the drive which he had tunnelled to meet Potch's and Michael's drive on the eastern side of the mine. He crawled out, shook himself, took out his pipe, and squatted on the floor beside Michael.
"Where's Rummy?" Roy asked.
Michael shook his head.
"You didn't get him down, after all—the boys were taking bets about it last night."
"We'll get him yet," Potch said. "The colour'll work like one thing."
Michael stared ahead of him, smoking as though his thoughts absorbed him.