Then comes the strain of the novice brain to comprehend the reasons and the logic of it all.
Richards showed his native shrewdness in the way he managed the expedition. The humor of its personnel was quite within his comprehension. Three men, ignorant of every detail of mining, Trevanion of the Star, and himself.
It was grotesque enough for comedy.
And, too, Richards had at last taken Mr. Wade’s measure—or thought he had.
“You have to sling softsoap to suit the pig-headed old sissy,” he phrased it.
And he assumed a bluff heartiness which actually became genuine at times, as he explained carefully and clearly the A B C’s of things.
For Richards loved the mine he had made, loved it after the fashion of his nature, with an intensity of possession.
Fought for it fairly when fairness served best, and trickily when trickiness seemed more profitable. Took a man’s genuine pride when he had forced it to obey him. Abused its future for the present good if he felt like it. Slaved for it fiercely in reprisal. It was the only way Richards knew how to love anything.
That these two men whom the accident of fortune had placed in actual ownership of the mine should interfere with him had roused first his rage, and now his determination to placate them, to hoodwink them. He showed a good-natured tolerance of their ignorance, and an indefatigable patience in explanation.