"What about concrete?"
"You might fill up the sockets with concrete; but I doubt, sir, if the case would hold for any time. The rock is a mere shell in places, especially on the northwestern side."
"H'm. You were at Oxford for a time, were you not?"
"Yes, sir," Taffy answered, wondering.
"I've heard about you. Where do you live?"
Taffy pointed to the last of a line of three whitewashed cottages behind the light-house.
"Alone?"
"No, sir; with my mother and my grandmother. She is an invalid."
"I wonder if your mother would be kind enough to offer me a cup of tea?"
In the small kitchen, on the walls of which, and even on the dresser, Taffy's books fought for room with Humility's plates and tin-ware, the Chief Engineer proved to be a most courteous old gentleman. Toward Humility he bore himself with an antique politeness which flattered her considerably. And when he praised her tea, she almost forgave him for his detestable habit of snuff-taking.