"Yes; an incline at the end of a four-hundred-and-forty-foot tunnel, and a steam hoist, and a pumping outfit, and a few other little knickknacks. Say a couple of thousand dollars or so before I can turn a wheel."
McMurtrie bent to light his pipe at the flame of the lamp. "That's about the size of it. Hold that lamp still, can't you?"
"Hold it yourself," retorted Bartrow; and he took a turn in the darkness to steady his nerves. When he stumbled back into the dim nimbus of lamplight he had fought and won his small battle.
"Don't lay it up against me, Mac," he said, in blunt contrition. "It knocked me out for a minute. You know I've been backing my luck here for all I'm worth."
"Yes, I know that. What will you do now?"
"Quit; come off the perch; shut up shop and pull down the blinds. It's all there is to do."
"And give it up?"
"And give it up. Bank's broke; or at least it will be when I've paid the men another time or two."
McMurtrie had Scotch blood in his veins, and was cannily chary of offering unasked advice. None the less, he did it.
"I'd borrow a little more nerve and go on, if it were mine."