“Mine's under the counter,” grinned Bob.
“And yours, Judge?”
“Mine's in the desk,” said the Judge.
Hal drew a breath. “Gee!” said he. “It's like a steel trap!” He managed to keep the laugh on his face, but within he was conscious of other feelings than those of amusement. He was losing that “first fine careless rapture” with which he had set out to run with the hare and the hounds in North Valley!
SECTION 8.
Two days after this beginning of Hal's political career, it was arranged that the workers who were to make a demand for a check-weighman should meet in the home of Mrs. David. When Mike Sikoria came up from the pit that day, Hal took him aside and told him of the gathering. A look of delight came upon the old Slovak's face as he listened; he grabbed his buddy by the shoulders, crying, “You mean it?”
“Sure meant it,” said Hal. “You want to be on the committee to go and see the boss?”
“Pluha biedna!” cried Mike—which is something dreadful in his own language. “By Judas, I pack up my old box again!”
Hal felt a guilty pang. Should he let this old man into the thing? “You think you'll have to move out of camp?” he asked.
“Move out of state this time! Move back to old country, maybe!” And Hal realised that he could not stop him now, even if he wanted to. The old fellow was so much excited that he hardly ate any supper, and his buddy was afraid to leave him alone, for fear he might blurt out the news.