“Not half so well as Will, sir. He’s always ’vestigatin’ of ’em,” cried Josh.
“You, my lad?” said Mr Temple, turning sharply on Will, whose brown face grew red.
“Yes, sir; I have a look at them sometimes.”
“Prospecting, eh?” said Mr Temple, smiling.
“We could both go if you like, sir,” said Josh. “We could row you to Blee Vor, and to Oldman’s Wheal and Blackbay Consols and Dynan Reor, and take you over the cliff to Revack and Rendullow and Saint Grant’s.”
“Why, Dick,” said Mr Temple, “we have hit upon the right guides. When will you be at liberty, my lad?”
“Any time, sir, you like. We ain’t going out with, our boots for the next few days.”
“Not going out with your boots?” said Dick.
“Boots, not boots,” said Josh, grinning. “I don’t mean boots as you put on your foots, but boots that you sail in—luggers, like this.”
“Oh! I see,” said Dick.