“You have enough out now,” said the old man, holding forward the light. “There: it is a mistake, thank heaven! Look: bottles.”
The light glanced upon the concave bottoms of rows of bottles with laths between, but George Harrington toiled on.
“My dear sir, this is madness,” said the lawyer petulantly.
“Yes, sir: with a method,” said George, working away. “Look; the whole of the brick-laying is fresh. We must have them all out.”
“But what for?”
“Wait,” cried the young man fiercely; and he worked with furious energy till the last brick was removed, and the bin laid bare.
“Now, are you satisfied?” said the old man.
“No.”
The bottles rose from the floor to the iron supported division which formed the place into two, and the top row was drawn out and set on end, first one at a time, then, as there was more room, two by two, till a couple of layers were standing in the sawdust.
Then George Harrington paused and wiped his own brow.