r young
men--parted on the side and brushed back. He has thin lips and a mouth
of unusual width. His mouth-line is as straight as a bowstring, and when
he speaks, which is often, or smiles, which is not so frequent, he shows
an even line of large white teeth.

There is something very earnest in the expression of Harvey Trueman's
face--a soberness that is seldom found in men under fifty. A straight,
strong nose, large nostrils and clean shaven upper lip that is
abnormally long; cheek bones that stand out prominently; gray eyes set
rather deep in his head for so young a man; a square chin protruding
slightly; and wearing a frock coat that falls to his knees in limp
folds, Trueman is a commanding figure, full of character.

He is an inch over six feet in height. Among the miners who look
straight into the eye to read character, Harvey Trueman has been
pronounced an unflinching tool of the coal barons--one whose unbending
will means the ultimate accomplishment of any undertaking.

Not one of the miners employed by the Paradise Coal Company has ever
known the young lawyer to take an unfair advantage. But he has upheld
the law for the proprietors of the mines when the men have made a fight
against the "company stores," where they are forced to spend the wages
made by the sweat of their brows down in the mines or on the breakers.

Trueman is looked upon by all the miners of the region as a part and
parcel of the law, and all law is regarded by them as a thing made to
oppress the poor and aggrandize the wealthy.

A simple investigation on the eve of the present battle has placed in
the hands of the young lawyer ammunition which will rout the enemy on
the first volley.

But such an enemy! Above all things, Harvey Trueman is a magnanimous
foe. Now that he has his case won, he feels half humiliated. In the
court room, occupying a front seat while she awaits the arrival of her
lawyer, sits the widow of Marcus Braun, the Magyar miner.

The miner was killed in Shaft Fifteen of the Paradise Company, which is
three miles down the river from the wagon bridge at Wilkes-Barre.
Standing at the bottom of the shaft when an elevator cage fell, upon
which were two loaded coal cars, he was crushed to a pulp. His widow is
suing for damages for the death of her husband. In the front seat with
her, in the court room, is her five-year-old boy, whom she must support,
perhaps by taking boarders at the mines, if the mine superintendent will
pe