“And if you get the smallest piece of rock in, you get a ‘double-O,’ sure as fate; and sometimes they say you got rock in when you didn’t. There’s no law to make them prove it.” “No, I suppose not.” “What it comes to is simply this--they make you think they are paying fifty-five a ton, but they’ve secretly cut you down to thirty-five. And yesterday at the company-store I paid a dollar and a half for a pair of blue overalls that I’d priced in Pedro for sixty cents.” “Well,” said the other, “the company has to haul them up here, you know!” So, gradually, Hal made the discovery that the tables were turned--the mysterious personage was now occupied in holding _him_ at arm’s length! For some reason, Hal’s sudden interest in industrial justice had failed to make an impression. So his career as a detective came to an inglorious end. “Say, man!” he exclaimed “What’s your game, anyhow?” “Game?” said the other, quietly. “How do you mean?” “I mean, what are you here for?” “I’m here for two dollars a day--the same as you, I guess.” Hal began to laugh. “You and I are like a couple of submarines, trying to find each other under water. I think we’d better come to the surface to do our fighting.” The other considered the simile, and seemed to like it. “You come first,” said he. But he did not smile. His quiet blue eyes were fixed on Hal with deadly seriousness. “All right,” said Hal; “my story isn’t very thrilling. I’m not an escaped convict, I’m not a company spy, as you may be thinking. Nor am I a ‘natural born’ coal-miner. I happen to have a brother and some friends at home who think they know about the coal-industry, and it got on my nerves, and I came to see for myself. That’s all, except that I’ve found things interesting, and want to stay on a while, so I hope you aren’t a ‘dick’!” The other walked in silence, weighing Hal’s words. “That’s not exactly what you’d call a usual story,” he remarked, at last. “I know,” replied Hal. “The best I can say for it is that it’s true.” “Well,” said the stranger, “I’ll take a chance on it. I have to trust somebody, if I’m ever to get anywhere. I picked you out because I liked your face.” He gave Hal another searching look as he walked. “Your smile isn’t that of a cheat. But you’re young--so let me remind you of the importance of secrecy in this place.” “I’ll keep mum,” said Hal; and the stranger opened a flap inside his shirt, and drew out a letter which certified him to be Thomas Olson, an organiser for the United Mine-Workers, the great national union of the coal-miners! SECTION 27.