His work was not hard now, for till the
miners knocked off there was little doing in the saloon; a few men
would come in for a drink at dinnertime, but it was not until the
lamps were lit that business began in earnest, and then for four
or five hours Dick was busy.
A rougher or healthier lad would not have minded the work, but
to Dick it was torture; every nerve in his body thrilled whenever
rough miners cursed him for not carrying out their orders more
quickly, or for bringing them the wrong liquors, which, as his brain
was in a whirl with the noise, the shouting, and the multiplicity
of orders, happened frequently. He might have fared worse had not
Red George always stood his friend, and Red George was an authority
in Pine Tree Gulch--powerful in frame, reckless in bearing and
temper, he had been in a score of fights and had come off them,
if not unscathed, at least victorious. He was notoriously a lucky
digger, but his earnings went as fast as they were made, and he was
always ready to open his belt and give a bountiful pinch of dust
to any mate down on his luck.
One evening Dick was more helpless and confused than usual. The
saloon was full, and he had been shouted at and badgered and cursed
until he scarcely knew what he was doing.
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