"That shows it's good coal, sir," said the boy, "Poor coal wouldn't
make such a clean cut as that. The better the coal the sharper 'tis."
"Thank you," said Mr. Burnham, smiling. "Taking the circumstances into
consideration, I regard that as the best compliment for our coal that
I have ever received."
The hand had been washed off as well as water without soap could do
it.
"I guess that's as clean as it'll come," said the boy. "It's pirty
hard work to git 'em real clean. The dirt gits into the corners so,
an' into the chaps an' cuts, an' you can't git it all out, not even
for Sunday."
The man was looking around for something to bind up the wound with.
"Have you a handkerchief?" he asked.
The boy drew from an inner pocket what had once been a red bandanna
handkerchief of the old style, but alas! it was sadly soiled, it was
worn beyond repair and crumpled beyond belief.
"'Taint very clean," he said, apologetically. "You can't keep a
han'kerchy very clean a-workin' in the breaker, it's so dusty here."
"Oh! it's good enough," replied the man, noticing the boy's
embarrassment, and trying to reassure him, "it's plenty good enough,
but it's red you see, and red won't do. Here, I have a white one. This
is just the thing," he added, tearing his own handkerchief into strips
and binding them carefully about the wounded hand. "There!" giving the
bandage a final adjustment; "that will be better for it. Now, then,
you're off to the circus; good-by.
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