Time glided on, and Geoffrey had very little to encourage him. He
investigated Wheal Carnac a little more, and then stopped because he
could go no farther. He found life, however, very pleasant at the far
western home. He was invited to several houses; and played whist so
well that he became a favourite, especially as he generally held bad
cards. Then he sat a good deal with old Mr Paul, and bantered him when
he was cross; while with Mrs Mullion he became an especial favourite,
the pleasant, patient, innocent little body delighting in going to his
room to tell him of her troubles, and about what a good man brother
Thomas was, though she did wish she would be more patient.
"He gets more impatient as he grows older," she sighed; "and if his
paper isn't on the table it's dreadful. You see, Madge is so fond of
getting it to read down the list of marriages, while, when her uncle has
it, the first thing he does is to look and see if any one he knows is
dead. I always peep to see if any one I know is born."
Poor Mrs Mullion used to blunder on in the most innocent way possible,
to her half-brother's great delight, while Geoffrey had hard work
sometimes to refrain from a smile.
The young man's life was one of disappointment, but it was not unhappy;
and more than once he found himself thinking of what it would have been
had he had a sister, and that sister had been like Rhoda Penwynn. Then
came thoughts of Madge Mullion, who seemed to be developing more and
more a desire to enlist him in her train of admirers. Rumour said that
she was fond of flirting, and her uncle angrily endorsed it. Now
Geoffrey began to think of it, he recalled the fact that he received
many little attentions at the girl's hands such as an ordinary lodger
would not get. Fresh flowers were always upon his table, both in
sitting and bed room; books were left in conspicuous places, with
markers in tender passages; he had caught Madge several times busy with
needle and thread over some one or other of his articles of attire that
needed the proverbial stitch in time; and one night, as he lay in bed
thinking, he suddenly recalled the fact that he had said in her hearing
that if there was any colour in the universe that he liked, it was blue.
"And, by George! she has worn blue ever since. The girl's a regular
man-trap, and old Paul's right."
"Well," he said, getting up, and giving his pillow a vicious punch, as
he lay thinking of her more than usual, "she may go on till all's blue,
for I sha'n't put my foot in the trap. Why, confound her impudence!
she's carrying on with that smooth-looking fellow Tregenna, or else my
ears deceived me, and--bother the wench! she's very pretty, and
_piquante_, and attractive, and all that sort of thing, and I wish she
was at the bottom of the sea--a mermaid combing her golden hair--not
drowned. Stupid wench!"
He then turned over, and mentally went down Horton Friendship mine,
discussed to himself the losses that the slovenly manner of carrying on
the work must entail to the proprietary; and then absolutely writhed
over the contemptuous indifference his proposals received from those
whom he looked upon as common-sense people.
"Hang them!" he growled. "The old cry. What did for our
great-grandfathers will do for us. The farther you go back, the wiser
people were; so that if you will only go far enough into antiquity there
you find perfection.
"Now take my case," he said. "I don't propose any extraordinary new
invention that shall take men's breath away. I merely say you are
getting your ores in a costly, wasteful manner. That you are digging
out of the ground vast quantities of mundic and throwing it away. Well,
I say to them that mundic is pyrites, and contains so much sulphur;
that, by a process, I can utilise that, so as to supply sulphur as a
heat producer, to the great saving of fuel, besides which, I can give
you metallic results as well, and make a large profit.
"Result: they shake their heads and laugh at me."
"Hang them! They're as obstinate as--as--well, as I am, for give up I
will not."
Then, in a half-dreamy manner, he mentally went to the edge of the shaft
at Wheal Carnac, and, as he had often done in reality, he picked up and
examined the _debris_, lying where it had been thrown when the shaft was
dug, and ended by going to sleep after half determining to try and get
some apparatus fitted to allow of a descent, as far as he could go for
the water, to examine the shaft and the adits, when if he could
conscientiously feel that there was any prospect of the place being
profitably worked he would make an effort to get a few enterprising
capitalists together to take advantage of what was already done, and
carry the mine on to prosperity.
The first person on whom Geoffrey's eyes rested the next morning as he
entered his room was Madge Mullion, in a neat blue gingham dress,
arranging a bunch of forget-me-nots in a little blue vase upon his
breakfast-table, and ready to look very bright and conscious, as she
started up to smile pleasantly in his face.
"Why, hang the girl! she has blue eyes, too," thought Geoffrey, as he
nodded, by way of good-morning.
"Uncle Paul down?" he said.
"Yes, Mr Trethick, I heard him come down just before you, and--"
"The old rascal's got something good for breakfast," cried Geoffrey,
with a pronounced sniff. "What is it?"
"Curried lobster, Mr Trethick," said Madge, pouting her pretty red--
perhaps already too pouting--lips at the lodger's extremely mundane
views.
"I love turned lobster," said Geoffrey, "especially such lobsters as you
get down here. I shall go and attack him for a portion."
"Don't, please, Mr Trethick," said Madge, earnestly. "There is a
delicious sole for you. It came from the trawler this morning, and--and
I cooked it myself."
"Egged and crumbed; Miss Mullion?"
"Yes," she said, eagerly.
"Humph! Well, I think I'll compound for the fresh sole, and let Uncle
Paul have his lobster in peace."
"You shall have it directly, Mr Trethick," cried Madge, looking
brightly in the young man's face. "I--I brought you some forget-me-nots
this morning."
"Yes," he said, smiling, "I was admiring them. They are beautiful; just
like your eyes."
"For shame! Mr Trethick; what nonsense!"
"No," he said, "it's a fact, and you've got the downiest of cheeks, and
the reddest of lips that pout up at one as if asking to be kissed; and
really, Madge, if they ask like that I shall be obliged to kiss them."
"I'd never forgive you if you did," said Madge, with a look that bade
him go on.
"Well, I'm afraid I must chance the forgiveness," he said, merrily.
"It's a great risk, but you may be merciful," and he playfully caught
her in his arms and kissed her, Madge making a pretence at resistance as
she triumphantly told herself that she knew she could pique him and
master his coldness.
"Oh! Mr Trethick!" she exclaimed.
"Madge! Here, I say, Madge!" cried the old man, whose door was heard to
open sharply.
"Yes, uncle," cried the girl, reddening.
"Oh, you're there, are you," he said, stumping across the little
passage. "What are you doing there, madam?"
"Defending your curried lobster, most bravely, old gentleman," said
Geoffrey, coming to the rescue, but asking himself how he could have
been such an ass, and whether he had not caught the complaint so
prevalent in Carnac.
"How the devil did you know I had got curried lobster?" cried the old
man.
"Smelt it," said Geoffrey, curtly. "Is it good?"
"No, it isn't good," cried the old man, "and I want to know why--why my
niece can't let the girl wait upon you."
"Why, you're jealous, old boy," cried Geoffrey. "Hang it all! are you
to have all the good things, and best attention in the house? Let me
have my sole in the next room, Miss Mullion. Your uncle's low-spirited
this morning, and I'll go and keep him company. Come along, old
fellow."
To Madge's great relief, and Uncle Paul's utter astonishment, the result
being a grateful look from the one and an angry snarl from the other,
Geoffrey thrust his arm through that of the old man, marched him into
his own room, and half forced him into his chair.
"There, begin your breakfast," cried Geoffrey; "it's getting cold."
"It's always getting cold, and how the devil am I to eat my lobster
without salt? Every thing's forgotten now, so that you may get what you
want."
"Rubbish!" said Geoffrey, taking a chair.
"It is not rubbish, sir. Didn't I see that jade exchanging glances with
you just now? and she's always in your room."
"Let the poor girl alone, and don't worry her into hysterics, at all
events not until I have got my sole," cried Geoffrey; "and don't talk
stuff about what you don't understand. What paper's that?"
"_Times_. What I don't understand?" cried Uncle Paul, who was foaming
with rage at being so unceremoniously treated.
"Yes, what you don't understand. Thanks, Miss Mullion, that will do.
But there's no salt."
"I do forget so now," said poor Madge.
"Yes, and what can you expect, if you stuff your brains full of other
things?" snarled Uncle Paul, with the result that Madge beat a hasty
retreat, and the maid came in with the salt and the rest of the
breakfast.
"Now look here, Uncle Paul," said Geoffrey, as the old man, after
growling and snarling a little over his curry, took a liqueur of brandy
in a very small cup of coffee, and seemed to calm down, "you are a
shrewd old fellow."
"Shrewd?" he cried, "I'm an old fool, a lunatic, an ass, or I should
never have brought you up here."
"Ah! we all do foolish things sometimes."
"Yes, even to running after artful, coquetting jades of girls."
"Well," said Geoffrey--"By George! what a capital sole, flaky and creamy
as can be. Try a bit."
"Curse your sole!" snarled the old man, with his mouth full of curry.
"You mean the fish, I hope," said Geoffrey, laughing. "Let's see; what
was I saying? Oh! I know, about doing foolish things. I've done a
great many in my time, but running after coquettes was never one of
them."
"Nor yet indulging in mine moonshine?"
"Moonshine, eh? Well that brings me to what I was going to say. Now,
look here, Uncle Paul."
"Confound you, sir, don't stick yourself on to me as a relative. You'll
want to borrow money next."
"Very likely," said Geoffrey.
"Ha-ha-ha! he-he-he!" chuckled the old man, with his face lighting up.
"I should like to see you doing it. You're a clever fellow, Master
Trethick, but I don't quite see you getting the better of me there."
"That's right," said Geoffrey. "Now you look yourself again." Uncle
Paul's face was transformed on the instant by an aspect of wrath, but
Geoffrey took no notice, only went on with his breakfast and talked.
"Look here, old gentleman, from what I hear, some fifty thousand pounds
went down that Wheal Carnac?"
"Quite. Fool's money," said Uncle Paul. "Give me that thick bit of the
sole with the roe in."
"I don't know about fool's money," said Geoffrey, helping him to the
choice piece of fish. "Now I've had some good looks at that place, and
I'm beginning to be convinced that a little enterprise freshly brought
to bear would result in good returns."
"Exactly," said Uncle Paul, grinning, "and you'd like me to invest a
thousand pounds, and nine other fools to do the same, and to appoint you
manager, with a salary of three hundred and fifty pounds a year, and
Amos Pengelly, the mad preacher, as your foreman, at a hundred. I saw
you through a glass, you two, poking and picking about."
"Well, I should like a hundred a year for Pengelly," said Geoffrey, "and
he'd be well worth it."
"Oh! I did not go high enough then," said Uncle Paul, with a sneer.
"Suppose we must make it five hundred a year. Will that enlist your
lordship's services?"
"I should spend a hundred pounds first," said Geoffrey, quietly; "that
would be ten pounds apiece for ten shareholders, in carefully examining
the mine and testing the lodes, and then, if I thought it really would
be a good venture, I'd give my services for fifteen per cent on the
profits, and take not a penny besides."
"Wouldn't you really?" said the old man, with an aggravating sneer, as
he threw himself back in his chair. "Ha-ha-ha! There, I'm better now.
Look here, Master Geoffrey Trethick, I mean some day to buy Wheal Carnac
for a building plot, and to turn the engine-house into a cottage, where
I can live in peace, and not be aggravated to death by seeing that jade
of a niece of mine running after every good-looking, or ill-looking,
fellow she sees. I've got a bit of money, but before I'd put a penny in
a mine, I'd cash the lot, and go and sit on a rock and make
ducks-and-drakes with it at high water. As for you, my lad, I don't
like you, for you're the most confoundedly impudent fellow I ever met;
but I'll give you this bit of advice: if you can find any fools to
venture their money in an adventure, fix your salary and have it paid.
No percentage. There, now I'll give you one of my best cigars."
He got up and unlocked a desk, out of whose drawer he took a couple, and
relocked the holder, when, just as he was in the act of offering one to
Geoffrey, the door opened, and Madge came in, looking flushed and
pleased.
"What the dev--"
"It's a letter for Mr Trethick," cried the girl, hastily, "from Mr
Penwynn, and it says `important.'"
"Then you should have sent it in," cried the old man, shaking his fist
at her.
"Penwynn--to see me this morning--important business," read Geoffrey,
flushing with pleasure. "Then," he said aloud, "the tide has turned."
"Oh, Mr Trethick! I'm so glad," cried Madge; but her uncle made as if
to throw something at her, and she ran out of the room, while Geoffrey
hastily re-read the letter.
"Do you see that?" cried the old gentleman. "You've been talking
nonsense to her, and you promised not."
"I? no! Hang the girl!" cried Geoffrey, joyously. "Uncle Paul, old
man, the tree's going to bear fruit at last?"