“Shilling apiece, boy.”
“Why I—’pon my word, sir, really I’m ashamed to take them.”
“Bah! stuff!” cried the old man. “Do you suppose, because I live here in this quiet way, that I’m a pauper? Smoke the cigar, boy. Here’s a light.”
Geoffrey lit up, and inwardly determined that in future he would keep to his pipe, while the old man sat watching him.
“So you mean to make the mine pay, eh, Trethick?” he said.
“Yes, I believe I shall, Mr Paul,” said Geoffrey, quietly. “I’m not starting with the idea of a fortune, but on the principles of which I have often told you of getting a profit out of a mine by economy, new means of reducing the ore, and living where others would fail.”
“Humph!” said the old man, looking at him thoughtfully, and they smoked on in silence.
“I was a bit bilious this morning,” said Uncle Paul at last, in an apologetic tone.
“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I saw that.”
“Parson called and upset me. Wanted me to go and take the chair at a missionary meeting for the Hindoos, and I told him that the Hindoos and Buddhists ought to send missionaries to us. But don’t take any notice.”