The note of relief in Jean’s tone seemed to add the last touch to Mr. Cameron’s exasperation.
“Do you think it was any excuse that Loring was drunk on duty with men’s lives in his hands? You women have a queer code.”
“No,” observed Jean, “it is not an excuse. It is an explanation. That I can understand. The other I could not.”
“Yes, and I can understand it, too. It means that I was a fool for trusting him. I should never have done it, never!”
Jean Cameron stole around to the back of her father’s chair and leaned over till her face almost touched his. “Remember,” she said in a low tone, “if he has lost two lives, he saved one.”
“Damn me! Am I likely to forget it?” Mr. Cameron answered, shaking off his daughter’s hands which had been laid lightly on his shoulders. “Why else did I take him on as hoist engineer? It was paying a debt, so I thought. But I had no right to pay at other men’s risk; and after all I had done for him he could not have the decency to keep sober on duty—well, it is too late to think of that now.”
Jean turned away and twisted the curling ends of her hair slowly about her finger ends. “Tell me just what happened,” she said unsteadily.
“It is a short story,” her father answered gruffly. “Two men in the cage at the bottom of the mine signaled to raise—engineer, drunk, sets lever at top speed. If you cannot imagine what happened, you may take a lantern and go over yonder to see.”
Jean sank shuddering on the window-seat and buried her head in the cushions. Her silence calmed her father’s wrath as her speech had stirred it. “There, there!” Mr. Cameron said soothingly, as he walked across to the window and stroked the bowed head. “It is nothing for you to be so downhearted about, my lass. You had nothing to do with it.”
Still the girl lay motionless.