ep. Just before dawn he was
awakened by a light. Pippin stood at his bedside. "The men go down
to-morrow," he said: "What did I tell you? Carry me home on my shield,
eh?"

In a week the mine was in full work.

V

Two years later, Scorrier heard once more of Pippin. A note from
Hemmings reached him asking if he could make it convenient to attend
their Board meeting the following Thursday. He arrived rather before the
appointed time. The secretary received him, and, in answer to inquiry,
said: "Thank you, we are doing well--between ourselves, we are doing very
well."

"And Pippin?"

The secretary frowned. "Ah, Pippin! We asked you to come on his
account. Pippin is giving us a lot of trouble. We have not had a single
line from him for just two years!" He spoke with such a sense of
personal grievance that Scorrier felt quite sorry for him. "Not a single
line," said Hemmings, "since that explosion--you were there at the time,
I remember! It makes it very awkward; I call it personal to me."

"But how--" Scorrier began.

"We get--telegrams. He writes to no one, not even to his family. And
why? Just tell me why? We hear of him; he's a great nob out there.
Nothing's done in the colony without his finger being in the pie. He
turned out the last Government because they wouldn't grant us an
extension for our railway--shows he can't be a fool. Besides, look at
our balance-sheet!"

It turned out that the question on which Scorrier's opinion was desired
was, whether Hemmings should be sent out to see what was the matter with
the superintendent. During the discussion which. ensued, he was an
unwilling listener to strictures on Pippin's silence. "The explosion,"
he muttered at last, "a very trying time!"

Mr. Booker pounced on him. "A very trying time! So it was--to all of
us. But what excuse is that--now, Mr. Scorrier, what excuse is that?"

Scorrier was obliged to admit that it was none.

"Business is business--eh, what?"

Scorrier, gazing round that neat Board-room, nodded. A deaf director,
who had not spoken for some months, said with sudden fierceness: "It's
disgraceful!" He was obviously letting off the fume of long-unuttered
disapprovals. One perfectly neat, benevolent old fellow, however, who
had kept his hat on, and had a single vice--that of coming to the
Board-room with a brown paper parcel tied up with string--murmured: "We
must make all allowances," and started an anecdote abou