“No, ma’am; we’re goin’ in deeper. Wa’n’t that what ye wanted?” returned Bill.
“Yes, of course,” murmured the girl, without enthusiasm.
The man with glasses coughed.
“Really, Miss Barrington, this is beastly air. It might be well enough to go back before long.”
Bill Somers took the hint. He knew the type to which the fussy little man belonged. The party turned about, and the pretty girl’s eyes flashed with a grateful glance—a glance which the near-sighted-glassed saw and promptly appropriated.
As they repassed Hustler Joe, Ethel Barrington dropped behind the others and came close to the miner’s side.
“I want to thank you myself,” she said, the crimson staining her cheeks as she impulsively held out a slim, ungloved hand. “I want to tell you how much I appreciate your courage and bravery at the explosion.”
The man flushed painfully. As he reluctantly touched her finger-tips, she added:
“You must be so happy to have saved so many lives. I knew you were a good man the minute I saw your face!”
Hustler Joe grew white to the lips, dropped her hand rudely and turned away without a word.