The old man nodded again.
“And it is all true about—about the little one?”
“Ay, it’s all true enough,” said the old man. “But never mind about that. He’ll marry her by-and-by, and it will be all right next time. Look here, Amos, what are you going to do about Wheal Carnac?”
“I don’t know,” said the miner.
“Then get to know,” said old Prawle, eagerly. “Look here, Amos, you’re fond of coming and hanging about, and I know what you mean, of course. So look here, I say, if you want to be friends with me, Amos Pengelly, you’ve got to come and tell me what goes on there, and what you are going to do, my lad, about that mine, d’ye hear?”
“Yes, Master Prawle,” said the miner, heavily. “I must go back now.”
“Yes, you’d better,” the old man said, with a leer. “They don’t want men folk about here now. My Bessie has turned me out, and I don’t seem to belong to the place. I’ll walk part of the way back with you, Amos, and talk about the mine;” and, to Pengelly’s astonishment, the old man did so, talking eagerly the while about the water, and the best way to clear it off.
“P’r’aps they’ll give her up now, Amos,” he said, at last. “P’r’aps they won’t spend no more over her.”
“Very likely,” said Pengelly, wearily.
“Then mind this—if you want me to be on your side, Amos, you come over now and then and tell me all.”