“Warn’t you two here ’bout two hour ago?” he said, sharply.
“No; neither of us,” replied Geoffrey. “But come, Prawle, let us two be a little more friendly. Why can’t you speak out? If you will be frank and honest with me, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I don’t want you to make it worth no whiles of mine,” growled Prawle. “I can get my living, I dessay.”
“Of course you can, man; but other people have got to get theirs. Sit down now, and let’s have a talk. Let’s hear all you know about the mine.”
“What mine? This mine? Wheal Carnac?” said Prawle, quickly. “Nothing; nothing at all. Only everybody’s ruined who takes it. Why?”
“Only that I’m going to work it,” said Geoffrey, “and it might be worth your while to tell me all you know.”
“Work it? You going to work it?” cried Prawle, eagerly. “You?”
“Yes: I,” said Geoffrey. “Now then, what do you say? Will you help me?”
The old man stood scowling and blinking at them in the dim light shed by the lantern, and as his eyes rested upon Geoffrey they seemed less fierce in their gaze; but his face grew very rugged again, as he exclaimed,—
“I can’t help you. I know nothing about the place. What are you going to do? When are you going to begin?”