Son Philip | Page 4

in its insidious
effects.
Now Philip Hexton, in making up his mind to take to his father's life,
had readily prepared himself to run all risks, in the hope of soon
lessening them; but after three months' action as deputy
assistant-manager under his father, he had awakened to the fact that all
he had done had been to establish a general feeling of dislike amongst
the men, who, though they did not openly show it, opposed Philip
Hexton all the more by a stubborn, quiet resistance that he found it

difficult to overcome.
It was something unusual for the manager's son to come down upon the
night shift; but, after mastering the various technicalities of the place,
the young deputy had set himself vigorously to work to try and more
rigorously enforce the rules of the mine, many of which, he soon found,
were terribly neglected by the men.
Upon reaching the bottom, Philip saw the party go into a kind of office,
where each was supplied with a locked and lighted Davy-lamp, whose
little wick burned dimly through the wire gauze; and then, as they were
about to shoulder their sharp steel-pointed picks, he said aloud:
"You'll need to be very careful to-night, my lads, for there's a good deal
of gas up in the new four-foot."
The men did not answer, but went sulkily away, leaving Philip to take a
gauze lamp of a larger construction to go and spend a couple of hours
inspecting different parts of the mine, in company with one of the
oldest hands in the pit.
"I wish I could get the men to believe a little more in me," he said, as
they went plashing along through the dark passages of the muddy pit,
past places where the black roof was supported by stays, some of which
were seamed and charred by explosions and fires in the mine.
"Ay, lad, they're a bit obstnit," said the old miner; "they don't like
interference."
"No," said Philip rather bitterly, "not even when I am working to save
their lives."
"Nay, lad; but that's what they don't believe. Yo' mun go on wi' 'em
more gently. But what brought you down to-neet?"
"There was a fall in the barometer, and a great want of pressure in the
atmosphere this evening," said Philip. "I could not rest without coming
to see that everything possible was done."

"Ah," said the overman grimly, "that's what our lads weant believe in--
your brometers, and pressures, and such like. They don't like to be
teached by one who they say's nobbut a boy."
"Does it matter how many years old a person is," cried Philip sternly,
"if he can point out what is right? Look here," he said, as he stopped
short in a low-roofed and distant part of the mine, "do you see this?"
He pointed to his Davy-lamp, inside of which the light kept burning
blue, and there was a series of little sputtering explosions.
"Ay, I see it, lad; it's often so," said the overman coolly; "but the
ventilation's about reet, and it will soon carry that off. It's nowt to do
wi' no brometers."
"Listen!" said Philip; and as the man impatiently stood still, there was a
low dull hissing noise plainly to be heard, where the gas was rushing
from the cracks and fissures of the shaley rock and gathering in the
long galleries of the mine.
"Now," said Philip, "does not the barometer speak truly? When the air
is weighty and dense it keeps back the gas, when it is light the gas
forces its way out. What would be the consequences if I were to open
our lamp?"
"There wouldn't be no consekences," said the overman with a grim
laugh; "there'd be a inquest, if they had pluck enough to come and hunt
out what of us was left."
In spite of himself, Philip could not help a shudder, as he listened to the
cynical, callous manner in which his companion spoke of their
proximity to a dreadful death. Then, bidding him follow, he went on
along the gloomy maze towards where he could hear the rumble of
trucks laden with coal, the sound of the ringing picks, the echoing
shouts of the men, and the impatient snort of some pony, toiling with
its load up an incline.
There was a quick sharp draught of air as they passed through a door

which was closed behind them by a boy, and, satisfied that the
ventilation was good, Philip Hexton and his companion went on.
Meanwhile Ebenezer Parks, the big miner who had been complaining
when the young man came up, kept on with his remarks as, in company
with his party, he made his way to the four-foot seam, as it was
called--a part of the