“Well, what?”
“You don’t think it foolish of me to talk, sir, as I have?”
“Not I, my lad.”
“It was all owing to that upset last night, sir.”
“Which we will both forget,” replied Geoffrey, “for I’ve got work on hand that I mean to do, and have no time for such nonsense. Now then, how are we to examine these stones without a pick?”
Amos Pengelly smiled, and opened his waistcoat, to show, stuck in his trousers’ waistband, the head of a miner’s hammer, and a crowbar with a piece of wood, tied in the form of a cross, to keep it from slipping down his leg.
“That’s capital,” cried Geoffrey. “Give me the hammer; you take the bar. First of all let’s have a look at the shaft.”
There seemed to be nothing to see but darkness, but Geoffrey gazed long and earnestly down its rocky sides, and as he let a stone fall down to get an approximate idea of its depth he felt a strange shudder run through him, as he thought of what a man’s chance would be did some enemy throw him down.
“Ugly place!” he said, as he saw Pengelly watching him.
“I never think of that, sir,” was the reply.