"You ain't got the say here, not by a domned sight, Jack Kilmeny. This'll be the way of it. You'll git out. We'll stay. Understand?" Peale ground out between set teeth.
Jack smiled, but his eyes were like steel. "Suppose we go over to the shaft-house and talk it over, boys. We'll all understand it better then."
Kilmeny still stood close to the red-hot stove. He was opening and closing his fingers to take the stiffness of the frost out of them.
"By Goad, no! You go—we stay. See?"
The young man was now rubbing industriously the thumb and forefinger of his right hand with the palm of his left.
"No, I don't see that, Peale. Doesn't sound reasonable to me. But I'll talk it over with you both—in the shaft-house."
Jack's eyes were fastened steadily on Peale. The man was standing close to a shelf in a corner of the cabin. The shelf was in the shadow, but Kilmeny guessed what lay upon it. He was glad that though his legs were still stiff and cold the fingers of his right hand had been massaged to a supple warmth.
"You be warm now, lad. Clear out," warned the big Cornishman.
"Build 'ee a fire in the tunnel, mon," suggested Trefoyle.
"We'll all go or we'll all stay. Drop that, Peale."