Chapter Thirty One.
Geoffrey Makes Love.
A long morning in the mine, now thoroughly cleared of water, and where, under the leadership of Dicky Pengelly, the picks were ringing merrily. Geoffrey had little good news to report, for the lode of tin was excessively poor; but all the same he felt that he could work on at a profit, and at any time they might strike a good rich vein. There was nothing, then, to mind.
He had reported every thing to Mr Penwynn exactly as it occurred, and that gentleman seemed not only perfectly satisfied, but encouraged him to go on.
“I have made the venture, Trethick,” he said, “and I will not play with it. I look to you to pull me up if it is going to be a losing affair; but it seems to me that to withhold capital would be a miserable policy: so go on. Do you think it can become worse?”
“No,” said Geoffrey, firmly, “that I do not. The fact is, Mr Penwynn, I am disappointed in the mine.”
“Disappointed? You don’t mean—”
“No, no, sir, I’m not beaten,” said Geoffrey, laughing. “I mean I am disappointed in the mine, and I have found out two or three things about it.”
“What sort of things?” said Mr Penwynn, uneasily.