“I can keep a secret,” said Little Jerry. After a moment's pause he added, dropping his voice, “You gotta keep secrets if you work in North Valley.”
“You bet your life,” said Hal.
“My father's a Socialist,” continued the other, addressing Jessie; then, since one thing leads on to another, “My father's a shot-firer.”
“What's a shot-firer?” asked Jessie, by way of being sociable.
“Jesus!” exclaimed Little Jerry. “Don't you know nothin' about minin'?”
“No,” said Jessie. “You tell me.”
“You couldn't get no coal without a shot-firer,” declared Little Jerry. “You gotta get a good one, too, or maybe you bust up the mine. My father's the best they got.”
“What does he do?”
“Well, they got a drill—long, long, like this, all the way across the room; and they turn it and bore holes in the coal. Sometimes they got machines to drill, only we don't like them machines, 'cause it takes the men's jobs. When they got the holes, then the shot-firer comes and sets off the powder. You gotta have—” and here Little Jerry slowed up, pronouncing each syllable very carefully—“per-miss-i-ble powder—what don't make no flame. And you gotta know just how much to put in. If you put in too much, you smash the coal, and the miner raises hell; if you don't put in enough, you make too much work for him, an' he raises hell again. So you gotta get a good shot-firer.”
Jessie looked at Hal, and he saw that her dismay was mingled with genuine amusement. He judged this a good way for her to get her education, so he proceeded to draw out Little Jerry on other aspects of coal-mining: on short weights and long hours, grafting bosses and camp-marshals, company-stores and boarding-houses, Socialist agitators and union organisers. Little Jerry talked freely of the secrets of the camp. “It's all right for you to know,” he remarked gravely. “You're Joe's girl!”