Chapter Six.
Apartments to Let.
Geoffrey looked in astonishment at the old gentleman, and then glanced at the doctor.
“You can’t do better, Mr Trethick,” said that individual, “for those are the only decent apartments you are likely to get here.”
“Of course,” said the old gentleman. “Come along, boy;” and thumping the ferrule of his cane down upon the granite paving-stones, which in rough irregular masses formed the path, he led the way along the cliff, and then turned off up a very steep zigzag path, which led up higher and higher, the old fellow pausing at every turn to get breath, as he pointed with his stick at the glorious prospects of sea and land which kept opening out.
“Lovely place, boy,” he panted. “Come along. Takes my breath away, but it’s better for the bile than old Rumsey’s drugs. Suppose you could run up here?”
“I dare say I could,” said Geoffrey; “or carry you up if I tried.”
“Confound your ugly great muscles! I dare say you could. But look yonder—that’s some of your work.”
“My work?” cried Geoffrey, as the old man pointed to the great granite engine-house on the promontory already known to the new arrival as Wheal Carnac.