The Vicar's People Part 50

"I would not advise you against your good," said Geoffrey, earnestly.

"I am certain the mine will pay."

"Thirty, forty, or fifty per cent?"

"No," said Geoffrey. "I only hope that; but I'll warrant six or seven, perhaps fourteen."

"It would about ruin us," said the doctor, "if it was like most mines--a failure."

"My dear, I'm ashamed of you," cried Mrs Rumsey. "You always would fight against every chance of advancement. It is my money, and I say it shall be invested. There?"

The way in which Mrs Rumsey's nose twitched at this juncture was something surprising, and made Geoffrey quite uncomfortable.

"Well," he said, rising, "I must go. Mrs Rumsey, thank you for a charming breakfast. Rumsey, you think over that, and, look here, if you do think of it seriously, come up to me--soon."

"He shall, Mr Trethick," said the lady, decidedly.

"I will--think over it," said the doctor. "But, look here, if I do play and lose the rubber, don't you come to me when you are ill, or I'll give you such a dosing."

"My papa keeps it in a bottle," said Bobby, in a whisper.

"Does he? Well, we'll hope the stopper is never removed on my behalf,"

said Geoffrey. "But, look here," he cried, as he remembered something.

"I've got two paper bags in my pocket;" and he dragged out the effects of his two last visits to Mrs Prawle, leaving the children in a high state of delight, and Mrs Rumsey telling her husband that if he had had the energy of Geoffrey Trethick he would be keeping his brougham, and she sitting in silk and satin, instead of having to wash up the breakfast things, while their one servant made the beds.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

GEOFFREY MAKES LOVE.

A long morning in the mine, now thoroughly cleared of water, and where, under the leadership of d.i.c.ky Pengelly, the picks were ringing merrily.

Geoffrey had little good news to report, for the lode of tin was excessively poor; but all the same he felt that he could work on at a profit, and at any time they might strike a good rich vein. There was nothing, then, to mind.

He had reported every thing to Mr Penwynn exactly as it occurred, and that gentleman seemed not only perfectly satisfied, but encouraged him to go on.

"I have made the venture, Trethick," he said, "and I will not play with it. I look to you to pull me up if it is going to be a losing affair; but it seems to me that to withhold capital would be a miserable policy: so go on. Do you think it can become worse?"

"No," said Geoffrey, firmly, "that I do not. The fact is, Mr Penwynn, I am disappointed in the mine."

"Disappointed? You don't mean--"

"No, no, sir, I'm not beaten," said Geoffrey, laughing. "I mean I am disappointed in the mine, and I have found out two or three things about it."

"What sort of things?" said Mr Penwynn, uneasily.

"Trickeries--sharpings," said Geoffrey. "It is very evident that to sell that mine, or may be to impress shareholders with its value, the place has been more than once salted, as miners call it."

Mr Penwynn nodded.

"Tin ore from other mines has been thrown down, and, of course, I saw through that directly; but in several places right at the end of drifts, Pengelly and I have found great pieces of ore fitted into the solid rock in the most artful manner, so that it needed no little care to find out that it was a trick."

"But are you sure that it is a trick?" said Mr Penwynn.

"Certain, sir. It would have deceived an ordinary miner or owner."

"But did not deceive you?"

"Well, sir, I take no credit to myself for that. I went through a course of mining study, and it is as simple as A B C."

"How so?"

"Why, look here, sir. Only yesterday Pengelly called me to show me a rich place he had found."

"Yes. Well?"

"I had to crush the poor fellow's hopes at once. The thing was most artistically done, a quant.i.ty of tin-bearing quartz, evidently _in situ_."

"Yes."

"But I always carry this with me, Mr Penwynn," said Geoffrey, pulling out a pocket-lens; "and that showed me at once that the quartz was veined with a different mineral from that all around, and also that the granulations of the stone were such as are found in the strata on the other side of the county, and not here."

Mr Penwynn said nothing, but looked hard at his manager.

"They've spent a good deal of time and money to successfully swindle people, and cleverly too, where the same energy and outlay would have made a poor mine pay."

"Then you consider it a poor mine, Mr Trethick?"

"Very, sir."

"But the report I had said that it was rich."

"Then the reporter was either a fool or a knave," replied Geoffrey.

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr Penwynn, "and you think then that we had better stop."

"Certainly not," said Geoffrey, flushing. "It cannot give a poorer yield, for there are thousands of tons of such ore as we are now sending to gra.s.s, and which I can make yield at least five per cent dividend, while at any time we may `strike ile,' as our friends the Yankees call it."

"Thank you, Trethick," said Mr Penwynn, quietly; and he drew a long breath. "Go on, I leave myself in your hands."

Geoffrey did go on working most earnestly, and on this particular day he had come up out of the mine, weary in body and mind, gone to the cottage and changed, and then started off along the cliff for what he called a blow.

"I'll go and see poor old Mrs Prawle," he said to himself; and in that disposition he went on till he came to the nook where he had interposed in Bess Prawle's defence; when, seeing an inviting place, he sat down, and as he did so the whole scene came back.

He did not know how it was, but there was a curiously uneasy sensation at his heart, and he found himself recalling Bess Prawle's looks, her way of expressing her grat.i.tude, and ended by taking himself to task.

"I can go there often enough and chat with the poor old woman--poor soul, there's a very pathetic side to her patient, uncomplaining life; but why should I go when it may cause uneasiness to others? Poor Bess!

she's a fine, handsome la.s.s. I shall have her father making suggestions like Uncle Paul about poor Madge. 'Pon my soul, I must be a very fine-looking fellow," he cried merrily.

Then he laughed, took out a cigar, lit it, and sat smoking.