For some reason, Hal's sudden interest in industrial justice had failed
to make an impression.

So his career as a detective came to an inglorious end. "Say, man!" he
exclaimed "What's your game, anyhow?"

"Game?" said the other, quietly. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, what are you here for?"

"I'm here for two dollars a day--the same as you, I guess."

Hal began to laugh. "You and I are like a couple of submarines, trying
to find each other under water. I think we'd better come to the surface
to do our fighting."

The other considered the simile, and seemed to like it. "You come
first," said he. But he did not smile. His quiet blue eyes were fixed on
Hal with deadly seriousness.

"All right," said Hal; "my story isn't very thrilling. I'm not an
escaped convict, I'm not a company spy, as you may be thinking. Nor am I
a 'natural born' coal-miner. I happen to have a brother and some friends
at home who think they know about the coal-industry, and it got on my
nerves, and I came to see for myself. That's all, except that I've found
things interesting, and want to stay on a while, so I hope you aren't a
'dick'!"

The other walked in silence, weighing Hal's words. "That's not exactly
what you'd call a usual story," he remarked, at last.