“Mr. Stone,” said Hal, “I want to make a change.”
“What's that? Got a grouch on them mules?”
“No, sir, but I got a better job in sight. Mike Sikoria's buddy is laid up, and I'd like to take his place, if you're willing.”
“Why, that's a nigger's place, kid. Ain't you scared to take a nigger's place?”
“Why, sir?”
“Don't you know about hoodoos?”
“What I want,” said Hal, “is the nigger's pay.”
“No,” said the boss, abruptly, “you stick by them mules. I got a good stableman, and I don't want to spoil him. You stick, and by and by I'll give you a raise. You go into them pits, the first thing you know you'll get a fall of rock on your head, and the nigger's pay won't be no good to you.”
They came to the saloon and entered. Hal noted that a silence fell within, and every one nodded and watched. It was pleasant to be seen going out with one's boss.
O'Callahan, the proprietor, came forward with his best society smile and joined them, and at Hal's invitation they ordered whiskies. “No, you stick to your job,” continued the pit-boss. “You stay by it, and when you've learned to manage mules, I'll make a boss out of you, and let you manage men.”