“Try Wheal Carnac,” said Geoffrey.
“Do you mean to tell me, as man to man, that that is going to turn up trumps?” said the doctor, with a little more animation.
“I do indeed,” said Geoffrey; “and if I had any money, I’d invest the lot.”
“What, after so many people had been ruined in it?”
“Look here, doctor,” said Geoffrey. “Suppose you go and take a house in, say Grosvenor Street, and start as physician.”
“That’s just what he ought to do,” cried Mrs Rumsey, who began to think Geoffrey full of sound common-sense.
“Well, you would be sure to get some connection.”
“Of course, but it wouldn’t be enough to keep me.”
“Exactly. Then another man, still retaining your plate on the door, comes, because you give it up in despair—fail, so to speak.”
“Oh, dear no!” sighed Mrs Rumsey; but her attention was taken off by her children, two of whom were having a silent quarrel, and indulging in furtive kicks and pinches beneath the table.