The foreman raised his hand in a gesture of protest. “No, no, Mr. Crofton. That would look like I was profiting by the folly of the men. I can’t do it. I am not in their union, but I will take my chances as they take theirs.”
“That’s foolish, Andrews. You don’t know how long this thing may last.”
“Well, I’ve got a snug bit laid by, and if things don’t brighten in time, why, I’ll go somewhere else.”
“We’d be sorry to lose you, but I want you to do as you think best. This change may cause trouble, and if it does, we shall hope for your aid.”
“I am with you as long as you are in the right.”
The miner gave the young man’s hand a hearty grip and passed out.
“Steel,” said Crofton the younger.
“Gold,” replied his partner.
“Well, as true as one and as good as the other, and we are both right.”
As the young manager had said, so matters turned out. Within two days several car-loads of Negroes came in and began to build their huts. With the true racial instinct of colonisation, they all flocked to one part of the settlement. With a wisdom that was not entirely instinctive, though it may have had its origin in the Negro’s social inclination, they built one large eating-room a little way from their cabin and up the mountain-side. The back of the place was the bare wall of a sheer cliff. Here their breakfasts and suppers were to be taken, the midday meal being eaten in the mine.