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"Four years ago the creek came in on us," says Llanders, "flooded us to within ten feet of the shaft mouth. We lost only a dozen men, but it was two years before we had the lower levels clear. We manage to keep it down now with the pumps, Bruzinski is most likely at the further end of the lowest level." "Is he?" says Waddy. "I must see him, you know."
But the lovely Marcelle may be sailing within forty-eight hours." "Well, what do you expect me to do?" demands Mr. Robert. "Want me to scuttle the steamer?" "I want you to help me find Joe Bruzinski," says Waddy. Mr. Robert throws up both hands and groans. "Here, Torchy," says, he, "take him away. Listen to his ravings, and if you can discover any sense "
A road like that never should be allowed to start anywhere. But the flivver negotiated it and by luck we found the mine superintendent in the office a grizzled, chunky little Welshman with a pair of shrewd eyes. Yes, he says Bruzinski is around somewhere. He thinks he's down on C level plotting out some new contracts for the night shift. "What luck!" says Waddy.
"You could," says I, "and about a year from next Yom Kippur you might get a notice that your wire had been received and placed on file. Why, they're still revisin' casualty lists from the summer of 1918. If you're in any hurry about gettin' in touch with Mr. Bruzinski " "Hurry!" gasps Waddy. "Why, I must find him by tonight."
Fiske here is in a great stew to see this Bruzinski party right away. There's a lady in the case, as you might know; one they met while they were soldierin' abroad. So if there's any way you could fix it for them to get together " "Going down's the only way," says Llanders, "and that's strictly against orders." "Except on a pass, eh?" says I. "Lucky we brought that along. Waddy, slip it to Mr.
"But I tell you," insists Waddy, "that I must find Bruzinski at once." "Very well," says Mr. Robert, pushin' him towards the door. "Torchy will help you find him. Understand, Torchy? Bruzinski. Stay with him until he does." "Yes, sir," says I, grinnin' as I locks an arm through one of Waddy's and tows him into the outer office. "Bruzinski or bust." And by degrees I got the tale.
Robert the swift comeback next mornin' when he greets me with a chuckle. "Well, Torchy," says he, "how did you leave Bruzinski?" "Just where I found him," says I, "about three hundred feet underground." It began with Stella Flynn, but it ended with the Hon. Sour Milk and Madam Zenobia. Which is one reason why my job as private sec. to Mr.
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