“Don’t knaw, sur,” replied Tonkin, with an angry frown; “he and I don’t pull well together. We’ve parted now.”
Oliver glanced at the man, and as he observed his stern, proud expression of face, and his huge, powerful frame, he came to the conclusion that Cuttance had met a man of equal power and force of character with himself, and was glad to get rid of him.
“But I have not gi’n up smuggling,” added the man, with a smile. “It do pay pretty well, and is more hearty-like than this sort o’ thing.”
“I’d advise you to fall back on mining,” said Oliver. “It is hard work, I know, but it is honest labour, and as far as I have seen, there does not appear to be a more free, hearty, and independent race under the sun than Cornish miners.”
Joe Tonkin shook his head and smiled dubiously.
“You do think so, sur, but you haven’t tried it. I don’t like it. It don’t suit me, it don’t. No, no; there’s nothin’ like a good boat and the open sea.”
“Things are looking a little better at Botallack just now, Joe,” said Oliver, after a pause. “I’d strongly advise you to try it again.”
The man remained silent for a few minutes, then he said,—“Well, Mr Trembath, I don’t mind if I do. I’m tired o’ this work, and as my time is up this very day, I’ll go over to-morrow and see ’bout it. There’s a man at Newlyn as I’ve got somethin’ to say to; I’ll go see him to-night, and then—”
“Come along, Oliver,” shouted Tregarthen at that moment; “it’s time to go.”
Oliver bade Tonkin good-afternoon, and, turning hastily away, followed his friend.