Mr. Penton shook hands with him and the lad departed, light hearted and happy. He did not waste the time that he was resting--not Steve. Instead he went directly back to the works, remaining all day in the vicinity of the shaft watching the progress of the work and asking questions whenever he could find anyone willing to answer them. He visited the dry houses, where the miners changed their clothes and took their shower baths, a clean, comfortable building provided with numbered lockers for the street clothes of the employés of the company, and where those who chose might eat their lunches in the cold weather. Steve learned a lesson that he did not forget. He learned it from the old pensioner in charge of the dry houses. "Make your men comfortable, look out for their safety and you will get fully a third more work out of them," said the old attendant. And this was the principle on which the company acted. The day passed quickly, and Steve went early to bed, in order to be up early on the following morning. This time he took no chances of getting lost in the mine. He followed one of the trammers who worked in his part of the mine, and reached Spooner's contract some fifteen minutes before the hour for beginning work. The contractor liked to have his men on the job early, and when he could drive them into doing so, he managed to get ten minutes or so extra work out of them before the whistle on the level blew the signal to begin work. Steve smiled good-naturedly when Spooner ordered him to get in and begin shoveling. The lad was not averse to doing so. All evidences of the accident had been removed and once more the drift was open and workable. A new powder-man had taken the place of the injured man, a quiet, self-contained young fellow on whom Spooner's bulldozing tactics had no effect. "See here, boy, how about that shovel?" demanded the contractor, after the lad had been working a short time. "What do you mean, sir?" "I mean the shovel you banged up hammering on the drift to make us hear." Rush looked puzzled. "What about it, sir?" "Shovels cost money. I have to furnish the tools on my job. I'll expect you to pay for that one. Got any money with you?" "No, sir." "Well, see that you bring it to-morrow. The shovel's worth a dollar." "Yes, sir. I will speak to the superintendent about it, and if he says it is proper for me to pay you I will do so," replied the lad wisely. "Speak to the superintendent?" shouted the contractor. "You'll do nothing of the sort. I'm running my business; the super isn't. If you try that game on me I'll fire you. You don't have to pay for the shovel if you don't want to. But you're a cheat if you don't." "I am not a cheat," protested Steve indignantly. "As I said before, if the superintendent says I ought to pay you, I shall do so gladly. You can fire me if you wish to. I am not so much in love with number seventeen that I would shed tears were I ordered out of it."