Something within Winston's face must have decided him against the suggested falsehood.
"Well, sorr, Oi 've only been boss over this gang for a matter o' three months," he said slowly, "an' they was well into this vein be then." "How deep are we down ?" "Between sixty an' siventy fate, countin' it at the shaft." "And this tunnel--how long do you make it ?" "Wan hundred an' forty-six fate, from the rock yonder." Winston's gray eyes, grave with thought, were upon the man's face, but the other kept his own concealed, lowered to the rock floor.
"Who laid out this work, do you know?
Who did the engineering ?" "Oi think ut was the ould man hisself.

Annyhow, that 's how thim Swades tell ut." Winston drew a deep breath.
"Well, he knew his business, all right; it's a neat job," he admitted, a sudden note of admiration in his voice.

His glance wandered toward the dull sparkle of the exposed ore.

"I suppose you know who all this rightly belongs to, don 't you, Burke ?" The foreman spat reflectively into the dark, a grim smile bristling his red moustache.
"Well, sorr, Oi 'm not mooch given up to thinkin'," he replied calmly.
"If it's them ide's yer afther, maybe it wud be Farnham ye'd betther interview, sure, an he 's the lad whut 'tinds to that end o' it for this outfit.

Oi 'm jist bossin' me gang durin' workin' hours, an' slapin' the rist o' the toime in the bunk-house.