An angry frown darkened Mr. Chattaway's countenance. Truth to say, this man, Pennet, though a valuable workman from his great strength, his perseverance when in the pit, did occasionally absent himself from it, to the wrath of his overseers; and Mr. Chattaway knew that illness might be only an excuse for taking a holiday in the drinking shop.
"I'll soon see that," he cried. "Bring that horse back. If Pennet is skulking, I'll discharge him this very day."
He had despatched his horse round to the stable; but now mounted him again, and was riding away, after ordering the men down to their work, when he stopped to ask a question respecting one of his overseers.
"Is Bean down the shaft?"
No; the men thought not. They believed he was round at the office.
Mr. Chattaway turned his horse's head towards the office, and galloped off, reining in at the door. The clerk Ford and Rupert Trevlyn both came out.
"Oh, so you have got here!" ungraciously grunted Mr. Chattaway to Rupert. "I want Bean."
"Bean's in the pit, sir," replied Ford.
"The man told me he was not in the pit," returned Mr. Chattaway. "They said he was here."
"Then they knew nothing about it," observed Ford. "Bean has been down the pit all the morning."