“It’s a very heavy one, Sam,” replied Gwyn; and his father strode on, but stopped short and turned back frowning, unable, in spite of his annoyance, to restrain his curiosity.
“Here, you Hardock,” he cried, tapping the block his son carried, with his cane. “What is it? What stone do you call that?”
“Quartz, sir,” said the man, examining the piece, “and a very fine specimen.”
“Eh? Good for breaking up to repair the roads with, eh?”
“No, sir; bad for that; soon go to powder. But it would be fine to crush and smelt.”
“Eh? What for?”
“What for, sir?” said the man with a laugh; “why, that bit o’ stone’s half tin. I dunno where you got it, o’ course; but if it came from the spoil bank of that old mine, it just proves what I thought.”
“Tin? Are you sure?”
“Sure, sir? Yes,” said the man, laughing. “I ought to know tin when I see it. If it comes out of the old Ydoll mine, you’ve only got to set men at work to go down and blast it out, sir, and in a very short time you’ll be a rich man.”
“Come along, Gwyn,” said the Colonel, hastily; “it’s time we got back. Hang the fellow!” he muttered, “he has given me the mining fever, and badly, too, I fear.”