“Pull it down and rebuild, you say?”
“Yes, sir; but not on the same rock.”
“Why?”
“This rock was ill-chosen. You see, sir, just here a ridge of elvan crops up through the slate; the rock, out yonder, is good elvan, and that is why the sea has made an island of it, wearing away the softer stuff inshore. The mischief here lies in the rock, not in the light-house.”
“The sea has weakened our base?”
“Partly: but the light-house has done more. In a strong gale the foundations begin to work, and in the chafing the rock gets the worst of it.”
“What about concrete?”
“You might fill up the sockets with concrete; but I doubt, sir, if the case would hold for any time. The rock is a mere shell in places, especially on the north-western side.”
“H’m. You were at Oxford for a time, were you not?”
“Yes, sir,” Taffy answered, wondering.