“Hold your tongue! Well, Mr. Ormond?”
“I can give you several reasons,” said Ormond, speaking very levelly. “In the first place we have had bad weather in the hills. That breaks the race and occasions a stoppage. Twice since midwinter a flume has been washed out in a spate. Each time we were near a week mending it, for we can’t work many hours in the short days. A great many of the pipes are worn out. I have to be constantly changing them for repairs. That all takes time. Then we had to run out a tail race before we could come down to work on the flat. The dredges won’t allow us to deflect the creek behind them.”
“The dredges can’t stop you. You are on your own ground.”
“That’s what I told him,” said Bert Kiliat. “But he wouldn’t listen. Nobody listens to me.”
“The wash carries down into their paddocks,” said Ormond, controlling his words. “I think I have given sufficient reasons to satisfy the ordinary intelligence. If you want to know any more you can ask the men. Now, Mr. Kiliat, I have just one thing to say to you. If you were a younger man I’d have knocked you down before now. As it is, you will please take a week’s notice from me dating from to-day. And I should advise your son to give a
