“Possibly some of us like the flavor of soap,” he retorted. “There is no accounting for the depravity of some tastes, you know.”
“Oh, well,” said the visitor, with the air of one who is far too wise to combat the vagaries of youth, “go on and have your fling. It is harmless enough. If you can afford to buy a little amusement in this way, why shouldn’t you do it? It won’t hurt you, and it is a Godsend to Tait and the poor devils on your pay-roll while it lasts.”
“But if I can’t afford it?” suggested Tregarvon.
“Ah; that is another matter. From what Wilmerding has let fall, I have been assuming that you and Mr. Carfax desired the experience and the fun of it rather than any possible money gain.”
“The money side of it may not appeal to Carfax; but it does to me, very forcibly.”
“Still, you are throwing good money after bad in putting down these test-holes.”
Tregarvon shrugged his shoulders. “What would you?” he asked. “I inherited the Ocoee, and it is up to me to make something out of it, if I can.”
The round-bodied bookkeeper laughed until he shook like a bowl of jelly.
“It is very evident, Mr. Tregarvon, that you were born in the purple. If you wish to make money out of the Ocoee, why don’t you sell it?”
“Because I should first have to find a purchaser, and before I could find a purchaser—I should think—it would be a condition precedent that I should find the coal. It resolves itself into the vicious circle, as you see.”