Hastings’ tone was both dignified and frank. John Carrington liked it. But could good come out of anything connected with the Tray-Spot? It had always been a thorn in the flesh.
Ned had crossed the veranda quickly, to seat himself behind a book-laden table. Once so ensconced, he drew a long breath of relief. Then he began to look amused.
“We have suggested a way, but it did not meet with your uncle’s approval,” said John Carrington, quietly.
“I quite agree with my uncle that we do not care to sell,” said Hastings, calmly.
“Nor, I assume, do you care to discharge your manager,” John Carrington went on.
“No,” said Hastings, frankly again; “my uncle has always considered Richards an invaluable man.”
“He certainly has been,” Carrington commented, ironically. “Then, I think we can cut out mining as a topic of conversation, Mr. Hastings. You and Ned can gossip about Paris.”
“That’s where I differ with you, dad,” Ned broke in, spiritedly.
Hastings, stung, started to rise, but “Don’t be silly,” the lad said, impatiently, but with more friendliness than he had yet shown. “We may have a thousand pleasant things to say about Paris, but this is the important thing, and we had better keep at it.
“Laurence”—Hastings gave a little start; Ned had never called him Laurence—“is quite as much of a greenhorn about mines as I was a few months ago. It’s only fair to tell him just what our position is. He will at least hear a story of our grievances that hasn’t been garbled.” His tone was spirited.