Remembering Natalie’s statement that her own and her mother’s fortunes were tied up in the mines, O’Neil felt inclined to go over Gordon’s head and tell the older woman plainly the danger of delay in complying with the law, but he thought better of the impulse.  Her confidence in this man was supreme and it seemed incredible that Gordon should jeopardize her holdings and his own.  More likely his attitude was just a part of his pose, designed to show the bigness of his views and to shed a greater luster upon his railroad project.

It was difficult to escape from the hospitality of Hope, and O’Neil succeeded in doing so only after an argument with Natalie and her mother.  They let him go at last only upon his promise to return on his way back from the coal-fields, and they insisted upon accompanying him down to the dock, whither Gordon had preceded them in order to have his motor-boat in readiness.

As they neared the landing they overheard the latter in spirited debate with “Happy Tom” Slater.

“But my dear fellow,” he was saying, “I can’t lose you and Appleton on the same day.”

“You can’t?  Why, you’ve done it!” the fat man retorted, gruffly.

“I refuse to be left in the lurch this way.  You must give more notice.”

Slater shrugged, and without a word tossed his bulging war bag into the motor-boat which lay moored beneath him.  His employer’s face was purple with rage as he turned to Murray and the ladies, but he calmed himself sufficiently to say: 

“This man is in charge of important work for me, yet he tells me you have hired him away.”

“Tom!” exclaimed O’Neil.

“I never said that,” protested Slater.  “I only told you I was working for Murray.”

“Well?”

“I hired myself.  He didn’t have anything to say about it.  I do all the hiring, firing, and boosting in my department.”

“I appeal to you, O’Neil.  I’m short-handed,” Gordon cried.

“I tell you he don’t have a word to say about it,” Slater declared with heat.

Natalie gave a little tinkling laugh.  She recognized in this man the melancholy hero of more than one tale “The Irish Prince” had told her.  Murray did his best, but knowing “Happy Tom’s” calm obstinacy of old, he had no real hope of persuading him.

“You see how it is,” he said, finally.  “He’s been with me for years and he refuses to work for any one else while I’m around.  If I don’t take him with me he’ll follow.”

Mr. Slater nodded vigorously, then imparted these tidings: 

“It’s getting late, and my feet hurt.”  He bowed to the women, then lowered himself ponderously yet carefully over the edge of the dock and into the leather cushions of the launch.  Once safely aboard, he took a package of wintergreen chewing-gum from his pocket and began to chew, staring out across the sound with that placid, speculative enjoyment which reposes in the eyes of a cow at sunset.