“And there’s such a chance, sir,” cried Amos, with whom the working of Wheal Carnac was a pet project. “Look at the money laid out, and how well every thing was done.”
“What became of the machinery?” cried Geoffrey, abruptly.
“It was sold by auction, sir; all beautiful, fine new engines, and boilers, and wheels, and chains—not old-fashioned ones, but new casts, and they bought it at Tulip Hobba.”
“Where they work with it?”
“No, sir, it’s stopped; and they do say as it could all be bought back for very little.”
“Your very littles all mean thousands of pounds, Master Pengelly,” said Geoffrey, thoughtfully.
“But they’d all come back, sir, and you’d have the machinery still. Do buy it, sir, and get her to work once more.”
“Why, you don’t suppose I’ve got the money to invest?” cried Geoffrey.
“Haven’t you, sir?” said Pengelly, in a disappointed tone.
“Not a penny, my man.”