“That's the Bible, I know,” said Kathleen, “and it really means 'mind your own business.'”
“No, no, not that exactly,” protested Jack, “rather that there are things in the heart too deep if not for tears most certainly for words. You can guess what I mean, Miss Kathleen,” said Jack, trying to get her eyes.
“Oh, yes,” said the girl, “there are things that we cannot trust to words, no, not for all the world.”
“I know what you are thinking of,” replied Jack. “Let me guess.”
“No, no, you must not, indeed,” she replied quickly. “Look, isn't that the mine? What a crowd of people! Do look.”
Out in the valley before them they could see a procession of teams and men weaving rhythmic figures about what was discovered to be upon a nearer view a roadway which was being constructed to cross a little coolee so as to give access to the black hole on the hillside beyond which was the coal mine. In the noise and bustle of the work the motor came to a stop unobserved behind a long wooden structure which Nora diagnosed as the “grub shack.”
“In your English speech, Mr. Romayne, the dining room of the camp. He is certainly a hustler,” exclaimed Nora, gazing upon the scene before them.
“Who?” inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Ernest Switzer,” said Nora, unable to keep the grudge out of her voice. “It is only a week since I was up here and during that time he has actually made this village, the streets, the sidewalks—and if that is not actually a system of water pipes.”
“Some hustler, as you say, Miss Nora, eh, what?” said Tom.