He knew how to keep his men in hand. There was not one of them
who ever ventured to question his supremacy. He ruled them, not one of
them could have said how. Ashcott, the manager of the mine, who battled
in vain against the rising spirit of disorder and rebellion among them,
was wont to describe his influence over them as black magic. Whatever its
source it was certainly unique. None but Dick Green could spring from the
platform, seize a delinquent by his collar or the scruff of his neck, and
run him, practically unresisting, out of the assembly. His lightning
decisions were never questioned. His language, which could be forcible
upon occasion, never met with any retort. The men seemed to recognize
instinctively that it was useless to stand up to him. He could have
compelled them blindfold and with his hands behind him.
It was this quality in him, this dynamic force, restrained yet always
somehow in action, that had affected Juliet so strangely in the beginning
of their acquaintance. Like these rough miners and fisher-folk she could
not have said wherein the attraction lay, but she recognized in him that
inner fire called genius, and it drew her unaccountably, irresistibly.
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