It was not
hard work that he was doing. Robert Burnham had given him the position
ten years and more ago.
Even on this hot mid-summer day, the heat was less where he was than
in any other part of the building. A cool current came up the shaft
and kept the air stirring about the head, and the loaded mine-cars
rose to the platform, dripping cold water from their sides, and that
was very refreshing to the eye as well as to the touch.
It was well along in the afternoon that Billy, looking out to the
north-west, saw a dark cloud rising slowly above the horizon, and said
to Andy Gilgallon, his assistant, that he hoped it would not go away
without leaving some rain behind it.
Looking at it again, a few minutes later, he told Andy that he felt
sure there would be water enough to lay the dust, at any rate.
The cloud increased rapidly in size, rolling up the sky in dark
volumes, and emitting flashes of forked lightning in quick succession.
By and by the face of the sun was covered, and the deep rumbling of
the thunder was almost continuous.
There was a dead calm. Not even at the head of the shaft could a
particle of moving air be felt.
"Faith! I don't like the looks o' it, Billy," said Andy Gilgallon,
as a sharp flash cut the cloud surface from zenith to horizon, and a
burst of thunder followed that made the breaker tremble.
"No more do I," replied Bachelor Billy; "but we'll no' git scart afoor
we're hurt. It's no' likely the buildin' 'll be washit awa'.
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