“Send Mr Geoffrey Trethick a cheque-book, Chynoweth,” he said, as he entered his office, and spoiled a most interesting game of whist.
Mr Chynoweth took down his slate, and made an entry.
“Honour his cheques to the amount of a hundred and fifty.”
This entry was also made upon the slate, and Mr Penwynn walked back to his lunch.
Mr Chynoweth became thoughtful. He had played out a hand at whist in his desk that morning; and he had written an offer of marriage to Miss Pavey, who had won five and sixpence of him the previous night at whist; but this was a very important matter, and thinking that he could remain a bachelor a little longer, he took out his letter, opened, read it, sighed, and, striking a match, carefully burned it on the hearth.
“Tregenna here—Trethick to draw cheques—what’s that mean?” said Mr Chynoweth, thoughtfully. “What does the governor mean by that? I hope he is not going in for mining. If he is—”
He paused for a few moments.
“I wouldn’t bet a crown he is not going to try Wheal Carnac.”