'
'I've thought of that--trust me.'
Harry Hardy's appearance below with the afternoon shift at the Stream
occasioned a good deal of talk amongst the miners; but he heard none of
it. Shine was in the searching-shed when he came up at midnight, on his
knees amongst the men's discarded clothes, pawing them over with his
claw-like fingers.
The searcher rarely spoke to the men, never looked at them, and performed
his duties as if unconscious of their presence. Custom had made him
exceedingly cautious, for it was the delight of the men to play tricks
upon him, usually of an exceedingly painful nature. The searcher is no
man's friend. When putting on his dry clothes, Harry heard Joe Rogers,
the foreman, saying:
'D'yer know them's Harry Hardy's togs yer pawin', Brother Tinribs?'
Shine's mud-coloured eyes floated uneasily from one form to another, but
were raised no higher than the knees of the men, seemingly.
'Yes, search 'em carefully, Brother. I s'pose you'd like ter jug the
whole family. 'Taint agin yer Christian principles, is it, Mr.
Superintendent, to send innocent men to gaol? Quod's good fer morals,
ain't it? A gran' place to cultivate the spirit o' brotherly love, ain't
it--eh, what? Blast you fer a snivellin' hippercrit, Shine! If yer look
sidelong at me I'll belt you over--'
Rogers made an ugly movement towards the searcher; but Peterson and
another interposed, and he returned to the form, spitting venomous oaths
like an angry cat.
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