g countenance he wore when studying a paper or
deciphering a friendly epistle. It was not a friendly letter at all,
it was a curt, bald statement that a certain rich gallery in a certain
mine was unsafe for working, though the opinion of two specialists
differed on the point. The two reports were enclosed, and when all
three reports were read Peter asked for the wage sheet of the mine.
There was no cause of complaint there.

"The articles of the last settlement between the firm and the men have
been rigorously adhered to?" questioned Masters, flinging down the
paper.

"Rigorously. I will say they have taken no advantage of their
success."

Peter smiled. "It is for us to do that. Mr. Weirs pronounces the
gallery fit for working. The seam is one of the richest we have. What
improvements can be done to the ventilation and propping before Monday
are to be done, but the gallery is to be worked then, until the new
shaft is completed. Then we will reconsider it."

Again Mr. Foilet bowed, but his hand fingered his glasses nervously.

"And if the men refuse?" he questioned in a low voice, with averted
eyes.

Peter Masters waved his hand.

"There are others. Men who receive wages like that must expect to have
a certain amount of danger to face. Danger is the spice of life." He
leant back in his chair, humming a little tune and watched Mr. Foilet
with smiling eyes. Mr. Foilet was wondering whether his chief was
personally fond of spice, but he knew better than to say more. He left
the room with a vague uneasy feeling at his heart. "A nice concern it
will be if anything happens before the New Shaft's ready," he
muttered; "if it wasn't for his wonderful luck, I'd have refused."

So he thought: but in reality he would have done no such thing.

The manager of the Stormby Foundry, which was a private property of
Mr. Masters's, and no company, was the next visitor. He was a tall
lank Scotchman with a hardy countenance and a soft heart when not
fretted by the roll of the Machine. The question he brought was
concerning the selling of some land in the neighbourhood of the works,
for the erection of cottages.

"Surely you need no instructions on that point, Mr. Murray," said
Peter a little more curtly than he had spoken to Mr. Foilet.

"There are two offers," said the Scotchman quietly. "Tennant will give
L150 and Fortman L200."

"Then there is no question."

"Tennant will build decent cottages of good material and with pro