Tom moved round uneasily and tried to smoke: he could not get Jack's last appeal out of his ears―'You ain't going to let the sun go down, Tom?'
Tom found himself glancing at the sun. It was less than two hours from sunset. He thought of the words of the old Hebrew―or Chinese―poet; he wasn't religious, and the authorship didn't matter. The old poet's words began to haunt him: 'Let not the sun go down upon your wrath―Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.'
The line contains good, sound advice; for quick-tempered men are often the most sensitive, and when they let the sun go down on the aforesaid wrath that quality is likely to get them down and worry them during the night.
Tom started to go to the claim, but checked himself, and sat down and tried to draw comfort from his pipe. He understood his brother thoroughly, but his brother never understood him―that was where the trouble was. Presently he got thinking how Jack would worry about the quarrel and have no heart for his work. Perhaps he was fretting over it now, all alone by himself, down at the end of the damp, dark drive. Tom had a lot of the old woman about him, in spite of his unsociable ways and brooding temper.
He had almost made up his mind to go below again, on some excuse, when his mate shouted from the top of the shaft:
'Tom! Tom! For Christ's sake come here!'
'Tom's heart gave a great thump, and he ran like a kangaroo to the shaft. All the diggers within hearing were soon on the spot. They saw at a glance what
