“I will,” said Mr Penwynn. “You leave that to my honour, and I will.”
Tregenna screwed up his face a little.
“That’s rather vague, my dear sir,” he said.
“Well, vague or no, what do you want?”
“A thousand pounds.”
“A thousand grandmothers,” said Mr Penwynn, pettishly.
“Well, that’s not unreasonable,” said Tregenna. “I suppose—well, we won’t suppose, but put it in plain figures—if that mine should turn out well—”
“Which it will not.”
“Well, it is the merest chance, but I say if it does turn out well, I shall have ten per cent of its market value two years hence.”
“Done,” said Mr Penwynn, holding out his hand.