"Well, Chynoweth," said Mr Penwynn, entering his office which was used
as a branch of the Felsport bank, "any thing fresh?"
Mr Chynoweth, the banker's manager, generally known as "The Jack of
Clubs," was a little man, dark, and spare, and dry. He was probably
fifty, but well preserved, having apparently been bound by nature in
vellum, which gave him quite, a legal look, while it made him
thick-skinned enough to bear a good many unpleasantries in his daily
life. He was rather bald, but very shiny on the crown. His face was
cleanly shaved, and he had a habit of bending down his head, and gazing
through his shaggy eyebrows at whosoever spoke, and also when he took up
his parable himself.
Mr Chynoweth had been busy inside his desk when he heard his
principal's step, and there was plenty of room beneath the broad
mahogany flap for him to do what he pleased unseen.
What Mr Chynoweth pleased that morning was to play over again a hand of
whist, as near as he could remember--one that had been played at Dr
Rumsey's house the night before, when one of the guests, Mr Paul, had,
to use his own words, "picked the game out of the fire," Mr Chynoweth
being, in consequence, five shillings out of pocket.
He kept a pack of cards and a whist guide in this desk, and it was
frequently his habit to shuffle, cut, and deal four hands, spread them
below the flap, and play them out by himself for practice, the
consequence being that he was an adversary to be feared, a partner to be
desired, at the snug little parties held at two or three houses in
Carnac.
On this particular morning he had just arrived at the point where he
felt that he had gone astray, when Mr Penwynn's step was heard, the
mahogany flap was closed, and "The Jack of Clubs" was ready for
business.
"Fresh? Well, no. Permewan's time's up, and he wants more. Will you
give it?"
"No: he has made no effort to pay his interest. Tell Tregenna to
foreclose and sell."
Mr Chynoweth rapidly made an entry upon an ordinary school slate on one
side, and then crossed off an entry upon the other, refreshing his
memory from it at the same time.
"Dr Rumsey wants an advance of a hundred pounds," he said next, gazing
through his shaggy eyebrows.
"Hang Dr Rumsey! He's always wanting an advance. What does he say?"
"Pilchard fishery such a failure. Tin so low that he can't get in his
accounts."
"Humph! What security does he offer?"
"Note of hand."
"Stuff! What's the use of his note of hand? Has he nothing else?"
"No," said Mr Chynoweth. "He says you hold every thing he has."
"Humph! Yes, suppose I do."
"Without you'd consider half-a-dozen children good security?"
"Chynoweth, I hate joking over business-matters."
"Not joking," said Mr Chynoweth, stolidly. "That's what he said."
"Rubbish! Can't he get some one else to lend his name?"
"Said he had asked every one he could, and it was no use."
"Confound the fellow! Tut-tut-tut! What's to be done, Chynoweth?"
"Lend him the money."
"No, no. There, I'll let him have fifty."
"Not half enough. Better let him have it. You'll be ill, or I shall,
one of these days, and if you don't let him have the money, he might
give it us rather strongly."
"Absurd. He dare not."
"Well, I don't know," said Chynoweth. "When one's on one's back one is
in the doctor's hands, you know."
"There: let him have the money, but it must be at higher interest. But
stop a moment," continued Mr Penwynn, as his managing man's pencil gave
its first grate on the slate. "You're a great friend of Rumsey: why not
lend him your name to the note?"
Mr Chynoweth had no buttons to his trousers pockets, but he went
through the process of buttoning them, and looked straight now at his
employer.
"How long would you keep me here if you found me weak enough to do such
a thing as that, Mr Penwynn? No, no," he said, lowering his head once
more, and looking through his eyebrows, "I never lend, and I never
become security for any man. I shall put it down that he can have the
money."
Mr Penwynn nodded, and his manager wrote down on one side and marked
off on the other.
"Any thing else?"
"Wheal Carnac's for sale."
"Well, so it has been for a long time."
"Yes, but they mean to sell now, I hear; and they say it would be worth
any one's while to buy it."
"Yes, so I suppose," said Mr Penwynn, smiling; "but we do not invest in
mines, Chynoweth. We shall be happy to keep the account of the company,
though, who start. How many have failed there?"
"Three," said Chynoweth. "There has been a deal of money thrown down
that place."
Mr Penwynn nodded and entered his private room, when Chynoweth gave one
ear a rub, stood his slate upon the desk, raised the flap and let it
rest on his head, and then proceeded to finish his hand at whist,
evidently with satisfactory results, for he smiled and rubbed his hands,
placed the cards in a corner, and next proceeded to write two or three
letters, one of which, concluded in affectionate terms, he afterwards
tore up.
Some hours passed, when a clerk brought in a card.
"For Mr Penwynn, sir."
"Geoffrey Trethick," said Mr Chynoweth, reading. "Take it in."
The clerk obeyed, and a few minutes later he ushered the new visitor to
Carnac into Mr Penwynn's private room, where the banker and the
stranger looked hard at each other for a few moments before the former
pointed to a chair, his visitor being quite a different man from what he
had pictured.
"Glad to see you, Mr Trethick," he said. "I have read the letters you
left for me, and shall be happy to oblige my correspondent if I can; but
they seem to be quite under a misapprehension as to my powers. In the
first place, though, what can I do for you?"
"Do for me?" said Geoffrey, smiling. "Well, this much. I come to you,
a leading man in this great mining centre."
Mr Penwynn made a deprecatory motion with his hand.
"Oh, I am no flatterer, Mr Penwynn," said the visitor, bluffly. "I
merely repeat what your correspondents told me, and what find endorsed
here in this place."
"Well, well," said Mr Penwynn, as if owning reluctantly to the soft
impeachment, "Penwynn and Company are a little mixed up in mines--and
the fisheries."
"Fisheries? Ah, that's not in my line, Mr Penwynn. But to be frank
with you, sir, I want work. I am a poor younger son who decided not to
take to church, law, or physic, but to try to be a mining engineer. I
am a bit of a chemist, too, and have studied metallurgy as far as I
could. My education has taken nearly all my little fortune, which I
have, so to speak, sunk in brain-work. That brain-work I now want to
sell."
"But, my dear sir," said Mr Penwynn, "I am a banker."
"Exactly. To several mining companies. Now, sir, I honestly believe
that I am worth a good salary to any enterprising company," said
Geoffrey, growing animated, and flushing slightly as he energetically
laid his case before the smooth, polished, well-dressed man, whose
carefully-cut nails gently tapped the morocco-covered table which
separated him from his visitor.
"May I ask in what way?" said Mr Penwynn, smiling. "Labour is
plentiful."
"Certainly," said Geoffrey. "I have, as I tell you, carefully studied
metallurgy, and the various processes for obtaining ore, especially tin,
and I am convinced that I could save enormously by the plans I should
put in force; and, what is more, I know I could save almost half the
expense in some of the processes of smelting."
"Indeed!" said Mr Penwynn, coolly.
"Yes; and also contrive a good many improvements in the sinking and
pumping out of mines."
"Then you have come to the right place, Mr--Mr--Mr Geoffrey
Trethick," said the banker, raising his gold-rimmed passes to glance at
the visiting-card before him.
"I hope so," said Geoffrey, with animation. "Ours is an old Cornish
family, and I ought to be at home here."
"Exactly," said Mr Penwynn, sarcastically, "and you have come at the
right time."
"Indeed?" said Geoffrey, eagerly.
"Most opportunely; for most of our great milking companies are in a
state of bankruptcy."
"Yes, so I have heard. Well then, Mr Penwynn, if you will give me a
letter or two of introduction, I should think there ought to be no
difficulty in the way."
"My dear sir," said Mr Penwynn, smiling, "I'm afraid you are very
sanguine."
"Well--perhaps a little, sir, but--"
"Hear me out, Mr Trethick. It seems to me you have come to the worst
place in the world."
"The worst! Why so?"
"Because every one here will look upon your schemes as visionary. If
you had a vast capital, and liked to spend it in experiments, well and
good. People would laugh at your failures, and applaud your successes--
if you made any."
"If?" said Geoffrey, smiling. "Then, sir, you are not sanguine?"
"Not at all," said the banker. "You see, Mr Trethick, you will not
find any one in this neighbourhood who will let you run risks with his
capital and machinery, or tamper with the very inadequate returns that
people are now getting from their mines. If you wanted a simple post as
manager--"
"That's what I do want," said Geoffrey, interrupting. "The other would
follow."
"I say, if you wanted a simple post as manager," continued the banker,
as calmly as if he had not been interrupted, "you would not get it
unless you could lay before a company of proprietors ample testimonials
showing your experience in mining matters. Believe me, Mr Trethick,
you, a gentleman, have come to the wrong place."
"Let us sink the word _gentleman_ in its ordinary acceptation, Mr
Penwynn," said Geoffrey, warmly. "I hope I shall always be a gentleman,
but I come to you, sir, as a working man--one who has to win his income
by his brain-directed hands."
"You should have gone out to some speculative mining place, Mr
Trethick," said the banker, taking one leg across his knee and caressing
it. "Nevada or Peru--Australia if you like. You would make a fortune
there. Here you will starve."
"Starve! Not if I have to help the fishermen with their nets, Mr
Penwynn. I can row well, sir," he said, laughing, "and I have muscle
enough to let me pull strongly at a rope. Starve? I've no fear of
that."
"No, no; of course not. I mean metaphorically. But why not try the
colonies or the States?"
"Because I have a mother who impoverished herself to complete my
expensive university education, Mr Penwynn; and it would almost break
her heart if I left England."
"Exactly," said the banker, with a slight sneer; "but you have come as
far from civilisation as you could get in visiting Carnac. Now then,
take my advice. Come up to An Morlock, and dine with me this evening--
seven sharp. I can give you a bed for a night or two. Then have a run
round the district, see a few of the mines, and spy out the nakedness of
the land. You will soon get an indorsement of what I say. You can then
go back to London with my best respects to Rundell and Sharp--most
worthy people, by the way, whom I would gladly engage--and tell them you
have returned a sadder but a wiser man."
He rose as he spoke to indicate that the interview was at an end,
holding out his hand, one which Geoffrey gripped heartily, as he sprang,
full of energy, to his feet.
"Thank you, Mr Penwynn. I'll come and dine with you this evening.
Most happy. As to the bed--thanks, no. I am going to hunt out lodgings
somewhere, for I cannot take your advice. You don't know me, sir," he
said, looking the banker full in the eyes. "I've come down here to
work, and, somehow or other, work I will. I have enough of the sturdy
Englishman in me not to know when I am beaten. No, sir, I am not going
to turn back from the first hill I meet with in my journey."
"As you will," said Mr Penwynn, smiling. "Till seven o'clock then. We
don't dress."
"Thanks; I will be there," said Geoffrey, and the door closed as he left
the room.
"He has stuff in him, certainly," said the banker, gazing at the door
through which his visitor had passed. "Such a man at the head of a mine
might make a good deal of money--or lose a good deal," he added, after a
pause. "He'll find out his mistake before he is much older."
With a careless motion of his hand the banker threw his visitor's card
into the waste-paper basket, and, at the same time, seemed to cast the
young man out of his thoughts.