“Then, I must not detain you,” he said, calmly.
“And why would it not be a good idea for you to send one of your men, in whom you have full confidence, down with us?”—Mr. Wade’s tone was entirely urbane. “He would, perhaps, be able not only to assure himself of actual conditions, but to explain your contention to us in the workings under discussion.”
Richards held himself tense.
“I should like to send our shift boss, with your permission,” said young Carrington, quietly, though inwardly he exulted. “I will have him meet you at your shaft house whenever you say.”
“Mr. Wade,” said Richards, and the effort he made to control himself made the veins in his face distend purplingly, “when Mr. John Carrington is well enough to go down our mine, I shall be glad”—how the word choked him—“to take him down myself; but Trevanion, their shift boss, is at the bottom of the trouble. He’s tricky and dishonest. I’d rather resign than take him down the mine.”
For in the time that would elapse before John Carrington was able to take such a jaunt much could be done.
There was a moment’s pause, in which Richards’ claim and Carrington’s were equi-balanced. The very fact of Hastings’ personal bias held him inactive.
Then young Carrington spoke.
“I will answer for Trevanion’s honesty with my own,” he said. There was an emotional note in the voice he tried to hold steady.
“Off the same piece, I guess,” sneered Richards, nastily.