“Good-evening,” said Clearemout, reining up.
“Good-hevenin’, sur.”
“What does that pump?” asked the managing director, pointing to the wheel.
“That, sur?” said the miner, drawing a few whiffs from his pipe; “why, that do pump gold out o’ the Londoners, that do.”
The managing director chuckled very much, and said, “Indeed!”
“Iss, sur,” continued the miner, pointing to Wheal Dooem, “an’ that wan theere, up over hill, do the same thing.”
The managing director chuckled much more at this, and displayed his teeth largely as he nodded to the man and rode on.
Before his arrival at the rendezvous, the boat was run ashore not far from the spot where Tregarthen and his men were concealed. As soon as the men had landed, Charlie walked down to them alone and accosted their leader.
“Well, Cuttance, you’re a pretty fellow to put your finger in such a dirty pie as this.”
Cuttance had seen the approach of Tregarthen with surprise and some alarm.