“But old Hardock said you were, father, and that you and Major Jollivet ought to form a little company of your own, and that he knows he could make the mine pay wonderfully.”
“Yes,” said the Colonel, drily, “that’s exactly what he would say, but I don’t think much of his judgment. I should be bad enough, but Jollivet, with his wound breaking out when he is not down with touches of his old jungle fever, would be ten times worse. All the same, though, I have no doubt that the old mine is rich.”
“But Arthur, my dear,” protested Mrs Pendarve, “think of how much money has been—”
“Thrown down mines, my dear?” said the Colonel, smiling. “Yes I do, and I don’t think our peaceful retired life is going to be disturbed by anything a mining adventurer may say.”
“But it would be interesting, father,” said Gwyn.
“Very, my boy,” said his father, smiling. “It would give you and Joe Jollivet—”
“Old Joe Jolly-wet,” said Gwyn to himself.
“A fine opportunity for trying to break your necks—”
“Oh, my dear!” cried Mrs Pendarve.
“Getting drowned in some unfathomable hole full of water.”