Part 19 (1/2)

”Do you feel like gasping here?”

”No; why do you ask?”

”Because you are a thousand feet higher than at Marshall Pa.s.s, and here we are three thousand feet below the mine. You would not only have the fear of falling off from the world up there, but the danger of it as well.”

Miss Hartwell looked from the office window to the great cliff that rose high above its steep, sloped talus.

”I told Arthur that I was going to see everything and climb everything out here, but I will think about it first.”

”I would suggest your seeing about it first. Perhaps that will be enough.”

Hartwell bustled into the room with a preoccupied air. ”Sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”

Miss Hartwell followed her brother from the room and up the stairs.

”Make yourself as comfortable as you can, Beatrice. I gave you full warning as to what you might expect out here. You will have to look out for yourself now. I shall be very busy; I can see that with half an eye.”

”I think if Mr. Firmstone is one half as efficient as he is agreeable you are borrowing trouble on a very small margin.” Miss Hartwell spoke with decided emphasis.

”Smooth speech and agreeable manners go farther with women than they do in business,” Hartwell snapped out.

”I hope you have a good business equipment to console yourself with.”

Hartwell made no reply to his sister, but busied himself unstrapping her trunk.

”Dress for supper as soon as you can. You have an hour,” he added, looking at his watch.

Hartwell did not find Firmstone on re-entering the office. He seated himself at the desk and began looking over files of reports of mine and mill. Their order and completeness should have pleased him, but, from the frown on his face, they evidently did not.

Firmstone, meanwhile, had gone to the cook-house to warn Bennie of his coming guests, and to advise the garnis.h.i.+ng of the table with the whitest linen and the choicest viands which his stores could afford.

”What sort of a crowd are they?” Bennie inquired.

”You'll be able to answer your own question in a little while. That will save you the trouble of changing your mind.”

”'Tis no trouble at all, sir! It's a d.a.m.ned poor lobster that doesn't know what to do when his sh.e.l.l pinches!”

Firmstone, laughing, went to the mill for a tour of inspection before the supper hour. Entering the office a little later, he found Hartwell at his desk.

”Well,” he asked, ”how do you find things?”

Hartwell's eyes were intrenched in a series of absorbed wrinkles that threw out supporting works across a puckered forehead.

”It's too soon to speak in detail. I propose to inform myself generally before doing that.”

”That's an excellent plan.”

Hartwell looked up sharply. Firmstone's eyes seemed to neutralise the emphasis of his words.

”Supper is ready when you are. Will Miss Hartwell be down soon?”