“No, sir: very old mine.”
“Well, very old mine—is a good thing, I should like to have a few thousands in it. Now, then, would it be safe? Stop, confound you! If you deceive me, you shan’t have Janet.”
“If ever I’m ill, I shall go to another doctor,” said Clive quietly.
“Yes, you’d better, sir! He’d poison you.”
“Well, he wouldn’t insult me, Doctor.”
“Bah! nonsense; I was joking, my dear boy. Come, tell me. Here, feel the pulse of my purse, and tell me what to do.”
“I will,” said the younger man. “Wait, sir. I don’t know enough about it yet to give a fair opinion. At present everything looks wonderfully easy. It’s a very ancient mine. It was worked by the Romans, and whatever was done was in the most primitive way, leaving lodes and veins untouched, and which are extending possibly to an immense depth, rich, and probably containing a very large percentage of silver.”
“Well, come, that’s good enough for anything.”
“Yes, but I am not sure yet, Doctor. I’m not going to give you advice that might result in your losing heavily, and then upbraiding me for years to come.”
“No, dear boy. You would only be losing your own money; for, of course, it will be Janet’s and yours.”