"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 garnishing 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?"

Miss Hartwell rustled into the room, and her brother led the way to the cook-house.

Bennie had heeded Firmstone's words. Perhaps there was a lack of delicate taste in the a.s.sortment of colours, but scarlet-pinks, deep red primroses, azure columbines, and bright yellow mountain sunflowers glared at each other, each striving to outreach its fellow above a matted bed of mossy phlox. Hartwell prided himself, among other things, on a correct eye.

"There's a colour scheme for you, Beatrice; you can think of it in your next study."

Bennie was standing by in much the same att.i.tude as a suspicious b.u.mble-bee.

"Mention your opinion in your prayers, Mr. Hartwell, not to me. They're as G.o.d grew them. I took them in with one sweep of my fist."

Miss Hartwell's eyes danced from Firmstone to Bennie.

"Your cook has got me this time, Firmstone." Hartwell grinned his appreciation of Bennie's retort.

They seated themselves, and Bennie began serving the soup. Hartwell was the last. Bennie handed his plate across the table. They were a little cramped for room, and Bennie was saving steps.

"It's a pity you don't have a little more room here, Bennie, so you could shine as a waiter."

"Good grub takes the shortest cut to a hungry man with no remarks on style. There's only one trail when they meet."

Hartwell's manner showed a slight resentment that he was trying to conceal. "This soup is excellent. It's rather highly seasoned"--he looked slyly at Bennie--"but then there's no rose without its thorns."

"True for you. But there's a h.e.l.l of a lot of thorns with the roses, I take note. Beg pardon, Miss!"

Miss Hartwell laughed. "You have had excellent success in growing them together, Bennie."

"Thank you, Miss!" Bennie was flushed with pleasure. "I've heard tell that there were roses without thorns, but you're the first of the kind I've seen."

Bennie had ideas of duty, even to undeserving objects. Consequently, Hartwell's needs were as carefully attended to as his sister's or Firmstone's, but in spite of all duty there is a graciousness of manner that is only to be had by a payment in kind. Bennie paraded his duty as ostentatiously as his pleasure, and with the same lack of words.

Hartwell noted, and kept silence.

Hartwell looked across to the table which Bennie was preparing for the mill crew.

"Do you supply the men as liberally as you do your own table, Firmstone?"

"Just the same."

"Don't think I want to restrict you, Firmstone. I want you to have the best you can get, but it strikes me as a little extravagant for the men."

Bennie considered himself invaded.

"The men pay for their extravagance, sir."

"A dollar a day only, with no risks," Hartwell tendered, rather stiffly.

"I'll trade my wages for your profits," retorted Bennie, "and give you a commission, and I'll bind myself to feed them no more hash than I do now!"

The company rose from the table. For the benefit of Miss Hartwell and Firmstone, Bennie moved across the room with the dignity of a drum-major, and, opening the door, bowed his guests from his presence.