Mr. Wade had shouted his fruitless commands, in the ascending cage, all the way to the surface, raging at Richards and his management, and unconvinced, in spite of a united and profane assurance, of his inability to stop the cage and go back; furious at him for having installed such a defective system, and threatening him with dismissal at the earliest possible moment.
His nephew and his nephew’s friend left to danger, while these brutes were being brought to the surface! He had never suffered such helpless frenzy in all his neatly adjusted life.
At the surface the cage cleared with magical suddenness. Mr. Wade, breathless with rage, was fairly dragged out by Richards, and in so short a time as a signal may be given and obeyed, the cage had again started downward.
Mr. Wade leaned back against the timbers of the shaft house, with the exhaustion of relief.
But it was a relief that Richards did not share. This particular kind of disaster was so frequently recurrent that he knew its possibilities all too well. And he raged that it should have come just now. It was such a routine danger that he had not thought of it as a special menace in taking them down. Casualty, with Mr. Wade involved or witnessing, had been furthest from his thoughts or desires.
“How long before they will be up?”’ Mr. Wade asked, faintly.
Richards, tensely alert, made no answer. The cage had reached the bottom of the shaft now. He waited a minute—two—three. There was no sign from below. He himself gave the signal to hoist.
“Are they coming?” demanded Mr. Wade.
Richards shook his head. “I can’t say, sir,” he said, “but they’ve had plenty of time. Either they got in the cage and forgot to give the signal”—and with Trevanion below this was an unlikely contingency—“or——” he hesitated.
“Or?” said Mr. Wade, sharply.