"The twin brothers still live there, I suppose?" said the other man.
"Ay, but they're not at home now. Went off this very mornin' to furrin parts."
"What—the cracky one too!"
The driver nodded. "'Tain't likely his brother would leave him behind."
"Is he really as mad as folks say?"
"Not likely," returned the driver; "I never knew folks tell the truth yet. They say that he's a miser, and hides his money in out-of-the-way places; and goes to count it when other folks are sleeping. They'll tell you he haunts the rocks at night, and is a sort of wizard, or something uncanny; but don't you believe it! I don't."
"They're very rich, ain't they?" said the big man. "Is the brother miserly too?"
"Not he," replied the driver. "Mr. Oscar Torrington is as open-handed as his brother's the opposite. I don't suppose he's over rich; but he gave a hundred pounds to the Trevethick Lifeboat Fund, and he lets the widow of a man who was drowned last year live in one of his cottages rent-free."
"Oh, he's a good fellow; but his brother has got his crotchets—a bit here, you know—" he touched his forehead—"there's no denying that."
"Do they live alone?" asked the man.