“Come along, then,” said Geoffrey, coolly.
“Where?” said Uncle Paul, who was thrown off his guard.
“I’m going underground.”
“Bah! That’s very clever, I suppose you think. That’s modern sharp, fast wit, is it? I’m going underground when my time comes, sir, like a man, and perhaps that won’t be till after you, sir.”
The old man wiped his face upon his orange bandanna here, and looked fiercer than ever.
“Why, what a jolly old pepperbox you are!” cried Geoffrey, laughing outright. “You are all cayenne and gunpowder. Wit be hanged! I said I was going underground, and so I am. I’m going down Horton Friendship mine. Mr Tregenna gave me his card for the manager.”
“Ho!” ejaculated the old gentleman, calming down. “Nice man, Tregenna. Smooth and polished. Make a great friend of him; I would if I were you. He’ll show you how to go to the devil faster than any man I know.”
“I’m afraid I want no teaching, Mr Paul,” said Geoffrey, gravely. “I say, by the way, whose cottage is that down in the cove about a couple of miles along the cliff?”
“Oh! you’ve been there, have you,” said the old man, chuckling. “You are making some nice acquaintances, boy! Did you see pretty Bess?”
“I saw a fine, handsome-looking lass.”