Southern States -- History -- 1865-1877 -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
The mines belonging to Keith's company did not appear for some time to
be affected; but the breakers soon began to reach even the point on
which Keith had stood so securely. The first "roller" that came to him
was when orders arrived to cut down the force, and cut down also the
wages of those who were retained. This was done. Letters, growing
gradually more and more complaining, came from the general office in
New York.
Fortunately for Keith, Norman ran down at this time and looked over the
properties again for himself. He did not tell Keith what bitter things
were being said and that his visit down there was that he might be able
to base his defence of Keith on facts in his own knowledge.
"What has become of Mrs. Lancaster?" asked Keith, casually. "Is she
still abroad?"
"No; she came home immediately on hearing the news. You never saw any
one so changed. She has gone in for charity."
Keith looked a trifle grim.
"If you thought her pretty as a girl, you ought to see her as a widow.
She is ravishing."
"You are enthusiastic. I see that Wickersham has returned?"
Norman's brow clouded.
"He'd better not come back here," said Keith.
It is a trite saying that misfortunes rarely come singly, and it would
not be so trite if there were not truth in it. Misfortunes are sometimes
like blackbirds: they come in flocks.
Keith was on his way from his office in the town to the mines one
afternoon, when, turning the shoulder of the hill that shut the opening
of the mine from view, he became aware that something unusual had
occurred. A crowd was already assembled about the mouth of the mine,
above the tipple, among them many women; and people were hurrying up
from all directions.
"What is it?" he demanded of the first person he came to.
"Water. They have struck a pocket or something, and the drift over
toward the Wickersham line is filling up."
"Is everybody out?" Even as he inquired, Keith knew hey were not.
"No, sir; all drowned."
Keith knew this could not be true. He hurried forward and pushed his way
into the throng that crowded about the entrance. A gasp of relief went
up as he appeared.
"Ah! Here's the boss." It was the expression of a vague hope that he
might be able to do something. They gave way at his voice and stood
back, many eyes turning on him in helpless appeal. Women, with blankets
already in hand, were weeping aloud; children hanging to their skirts
were whimpering in vague recognition of disaster; men were growling and
swearing deeply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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