Part 8 (1/2)
Then the two separated, and Monk Tooley went home, thinking over a plan by which the Young Sleepers, under his son Bill's direction, could effectually drive Derrick Sterling from the mine. As he opened his own door he called out in his loud, rough voice,
”Bill come in yet?”
Stepping into the front room, he stood still in amazement. The wife of a neighbor was holding up a warning finger towards him, and saying, ”Sh--h!”
His own wife and two other women were bending over a bed in one corner, and the children, whom he had never before known to be quiet when awake, were standing or sitting silently in various frightened att.i.tudes about the room.
”Who is it?” he asked, hoa.r.s.ely, with an attempt at a whisper.
”It's Bill,” answered one of the women. ”He's badly hurted, falling down a shaft in the mine, and is like to die. They say Paul the cripple saved him.”
”Bill! my Bill! You're lying!” cried the miner, fiercely. ”Bill came out of de mine wid de day s.h.i.+ft. I seen him.”
Rough and cruel as he was, the man had, hidden somewhere in his being, a deep-seated affection for his son Bill. Although he had never been heard to speak other than harshly to him, Bill was the pride and joy of his hard life. A blow aimed at Bill struck him with redoubled force. His hatred of Derrick Sterling arose from the fact that the lad had thrashed his boy. Now to tell him that his boy Bill was so badly hurt that he was likely to die was like wrenching from him all that he held worth living for.
The women made way for the rough miner as he strode to where his son lay on a heap of soiled bedclothing, tossing and moaning, but unconscious, and in a high fever. One look was enough, and then Monk Tooley left the house, and set forth on a ten-mile walk through the night to fetch the nearest doctor.
By sunrise the doctor had come and gone again, having done what he could. He said the boy would live if he were kept quiet and had careful nursing, but that he was injured in such a way that he might be lame for the rest of his life.
When Monk Tooley went down into the mine that day--for he must now work harder and more steadily than ever to support this added burden--he was a silent, heart-broken man.
It was nearly noon before Derrick Sterling awoke after his first day of bitter experience in the mine. Though he was still sore and lame, hot water and sleep, two of nature's most powerful remedies in cases of his kind, had worked such wonders for him that he felt quite ready to enter the mine again, and face whatever new trials it might have in store for him.
After dinner the mine boss came to see him, and was amazed to find him looking so well and cheerful.
”You seem to come up smiling after every knock down, Derrick,” he said.
”I shouldn't wonder if you would even be ready to go down into the mine again to-morrow.”
”Indeed I think I must, sir,” said Derrick, earnestly. ”I don't believe any one else can get along with Harry Mule as well as I can.”
”Let me see. How many years have you been driving him?” asked Mr. Jones, gravely.
”Only one day, sir,” replied Derrick laughing, ”but I think he's very fond of me, and I know I am of him.”
”All right; if you insist upon it, you shall go down again to-morrow to your b.u.mping-mule. Now I want to talk to you seriously.”
The conversation that followed was long and earnest, and it was ended by Mr. Jones saying, just before he left, ”I must manage somehow or other to be there on the 27th, and I want you to go with me, for I don't know anybody else whom I dare trust. It only remains for us to discover a way.”
CHAPTER VIII
DERRICK STERLING'S SPLENDID REVENGE
The new breaker, in which Paul Evert now worked as a slate-picker, was in general appearance very much like the old one, but its interior arrangement was different, and of such a nature as to make life much easier for those who worked in it. The greatest improvement was the introduction of a set of machines called ”jigs.” The coal from the mine, after being drawn to the very top of the breaker, first pa.s.sed between great spiked rollers, or ”crushers;” then through a series of ”screens,”
provided with holes of different sizes, that separated it into several grades of egg, stove, nut, pea, buckwheat, etc. From the screens it was led into the jigs. These are perforated iron cylinders set in tubs of water, and fitted with movable iron bottoms placed at a slight angle. A small steam-engine attached to each machine raises and lowers or ”jigs”
this iron bottom a few inches each way very rapidly. The contents of the cylinders are thus constantly shaken in water, and as the slate is heavier than the coal, most of it settles to the bottom, and is carried off through a waste chute. The wet coal runs out through other chutes placed a little higher than that for slate, and extending down through the length of the breaker to the storage bins at its bottom. Along these chutes in the new breaker, as in the old one, sat rows of boys picking out the bits of slate that had escaped the jigs, and among them was Paul Evert.
When Derrick Sterling entered the new breaker on the afternoon of the day following that which had brought such memorable adventures, he was surprised at the comparative absence of coal-dust. It still rose in clouds from the crushers and screens, but there was none above the chutes. He understood the theory of jigs, but had never seen them at work, and now he was so greatly interested in watching them as almost to forget the errand on which he had come. It was only when Mr. Guffy spoke to him that he thought of it, and handed the breaker boss the note he had come to give him.