Into this inn, clean, but humble in its pretensions, Herring introduced the Captain.
'I say, girl,' called Trecarrel to the maid, 'throw on some logs; the turf only smoulders. And bring me some hot water and rum. I am cold and damp, and altogether dispirited and drooping. Let me have a steak as soon as you can.' Then to Herring: 'I am put out confoundedly. Ophir will not digest. Tell me candidly your opinion.'
'You are not treating me fairly,' said Herring. 'You have no right to ask me this question when you are about to become closely allied to Mr. Trampleasure——'
'Oh, confound Tramplara. I am not going to marry him, nor his sniffing wife, nor his cub of a son, heaven be praised! nor, better than all, Ophir. Nevertheless I want to know something about Ophir, for though I am going to be allied to the family, I do not want to be linked by so ever small a link to a concern that may smash, least of all to one that is not exactly on the square. What do you make out about the gold mine?'
'It puzzles me. I have been over it and seen the gold dust washed out of the gozzen.'
'So have I.'
'And yet I am not satisfied.'
'Nor am I.'
'In the first place, I mistrust the way in which Ophir has been puffed and brought into the market.'
'I do not believe a word about the Phoenicians,' said the Captain.