‘Do you know, I believe you are right,’ Craig said slowly, and then added, ‘But you always are.’
‘I fear not,’ she answered; but I thought she liked to hear his words.
The whole town was astounded next morning when Slavin went to work in the mines, and its astonishment only deepened as the days went on, and he stuck to his work. Before three weeks had gone the League had bought and remodelled the saloon and had secured Slavin as Resident Manager.
The evening of the reopening of Slavin’s saloon, as it was still called, was long remembered in Black Rock. It was the occasion of the first appearance of ‘The League Minstrel and Dramatic Troupe,’ in what was described as a ‘hair-lifting tragedy with appropriate musical selections.’ Then there was a grand supper and speeches and great enthusiasm, which reached its climax when Nixon rose to propose the toast of the evening—‘Our Saloon.’ His speech was simply a quiet, manly account of his long struggle with the deadly enemy. When he came to speak of his recent defeat he said—
‘And while I am blaming no one but myself, I am glad to-night that this saloon is on our side, for my own sake and for the sake of those who have been waiting long to see me. But before I sit down I want to say that while I live I shall not forget that I owe my life to the man that took me that night to his own shack and put me in his own bed, and met me next morning with an open hand; for I tell you I had sworn to God that that morning would be my last.’
Geordie’s speech was characteristic. After a brief reference to the ‘mysteerious ways o’ Providence,’ which he acknowledged he might sometimes fail to understand, he went on to express his unqualified approval of the new saloon.
‘It’s a cosy place, an’ there’s nae sulphur aboot. Besides a’ that,’ he went on enthusiastically, ‘it’ll be a terrible savin’. I’ve juist been coontin’.’
‘You bet!’ ejaculated a voice with great emphasis.
‘I’ve juist been coontin’,’ went on Geordie, ignoring the remark and the laugh which followed, ‘an’ it’s an awfu’-like money ye pit ower wi’ the whusky. Ye see ye canna dae wi’ ane bit glass; ye maun hae twa or three at the verra least, for it’s no verra forrit ye get wi’ ane glass. But wi’ yon coffee ye juist get a saxpence-worth an’ ye want nae mair.’
There was another shout of laughter, which puzzled Geordie much.