"Your man. Your paid servant. Does it pinch here, Pezzack? 'Tis a bit up here, and the moor's rough."
"Your 'and pinches, the good right 'and of fellowship," panted Eli.
"Don't the words pinch? Suppose the mine fails, where are you? Your uncle will be down on you, and he'll cast you over. You won't see any of his savings, and there's a wife to keep, and children coming, but you're a happy man. We're all happy on a frosty night like this. Come on!"
"What are you a-saying? I don't seem to get hold of it. Let me stop, Mr. Pendoggat. I want to wipe the sweat off my face."
"Let it bide there. My name don't appear in the mining business. The thing is yours from start to finish, and I'm your man. There will be none more against you if the mine fails, and I'm thrown out of a job. I've got the cash, Pezzack, every penny of it down to the Barton in notes. When are we going to start on the new chapel, minister? We're going to build a new chapel, the finest on the moor. We can't start till the spring. You told your uncle that? The snow's coming. It's in the air now, and I reckon 'tis falling thick on the high tors. We can't build the chapel and get out the nickel while the snow lasts."
Pendoggat was walking at a furious pace, devouring the keen wind, his head bent forward, chin upon his chest, lurching from side to side, dragging the minister like a parent hauling a refractory child.
"He 'ave lost his senses. He don't know what he's doing with me," Eli panted, becoming for the first time indirect.
"We're getting near the top. There will be a fine wind. Do you good, Pezzack. Make a man of you. What do you think of the nickel down under? Pretty good stuff, ain't it? Had it analysed yet? Found out what it's worth a ton? Got permission from the Duchy? I reckon you've done all that. You're a fine business man. You know a good sample of nickel when you see it."
"I left it all to you, Mr. Pendoggat. You know all about it."
Pezzack tried to say more, something about his feet and rheumatic arm and the perspiration which blinded him, but he had no more breath. Pendoggat's fingers were like a handcuff about his wrist.