“Well,” said the other, “the company has to haul them up here, you know!”
So, gradually, Hal made the discovery that the tables were turned—the mysterious personage was now occupied in holding him at arm's length! For some reason, Hal's sudden interest in industrial justice had failed to make an impression.
So his career as a detective came to an inglorious end. “Say, man!” he exclaimed “What's your game, anyhow?”
“Game?” said the other, quietly. “How do you mean?”
“I mean, what are you here for?”
“I'm here for two dollars a day—the same as you, I guess.”
Hal began to laugh. “You and I are like a couple of submarines, trying to find each other under water. I think we'd better come to the surface to do our fighting.”
The other considered the simile, and seemed to like it. “You come first,” said he. But he did not smile. His quiet blue eyes were fixed on Hal with deadly seriousness.
“All right,” said Hal; “my story isn't very thrilling. I'm not an escaped convict, I'm not a company spy, as you may be thinking. Nor am I a 'natural born' coal-miner. I happen to have a brother and some friends at home who think they know about the coal-industry, and it got on my nerves, and I came to see for myself. That's all, except that I've found things interesting, and want to stay on a while, so I hope you aren't a 'dick'!”
The other walked in silence, weighing Hal's words. “That's not exactly what you'd call a usual story,” he remarked, at last.