“I’ll tell you soon,” said the old man. “I’ve been talking it over with my Bessie, and she says I may trust you, and that I am to do it. I haven’t lived to my time for nothing.”
“I’m much obliged to Miss Bessie for her trust,” said Geoffrey bitterly; “but what is it? Are you going to dig up some of your old hoards of money?”
“No, no; no, no,” chuckled the old fellow, grimly. “I don’t bury my money. I know what I’m about. Come along.”
Geoffrey followed him down the rest of the rough way to the rocky shore, where the old man’s boat was lying, and between them they ran her out into the tiny harbour, formed by a few jutting pieces of rock, got in, and, after arranging some great boulders as ballast, old Prawle was about to take both sculls, when Geoffrey took one.
“Here, I’ll pull as well,” he said. “I want work.”
“Pull then,” said the old man. As soon as he had placed the lantern and compass in the stern of the boat, the oars fell with a splash, and, timing the effort exactly, they rode out on a gently-heaving wave, and then old Prawle kept the boat about fifty yards from where the waves beat on the time-worn rocks.
“Tide’s just right,” said the old man. “Easy. Pull steadily, my lad. There’s no hurry. Hear about old Master Penwynn?”
“No. What?” said Geoffrey, sharply.
“They say things are going very bad with him, and that he’ll soon be as poor as you.”
“No,” said Geoffrey. “I did hear that he had losses some months ago. But is this true?”