Chapter Forty Two.
Mining Matters.
The boys stayed there some time listening to the clinking sound, and then, feeling obliged to go, they hurried away.
“Tell you what,” said Gwyn, as they parted at last, “we’ll wait till he has gone down the mine to-morrow morning, and then either go by the cliff or round by the cove head, and see what he has been about. I say it’s a conger-line, and we may find one on.”
“Perhaps so,” said Joe, thoughtfully. “Ydoll, old chap, I don’t like Tom Dinass.”
“Nor I, neither. But what’s the matter now?”
“I’m afraid he broke poor Grip’s legs.”
“What? Nonsense! He wouldn’t be such a brute. No man would.”