The Vicar's People Part 10

"Then you think I am disagreeable?" said the old man, sharply.

"Not to put too fine a point upon it--yes; very."

"I always am," said the old gentleman, with a harsh laugh. "What do you think of my niece?"

"Very pretty," said Geoffrey, quietly.

"Oh! You think so?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"Humph! Yes. But, look here, young man, you are from London, are you not?"

"Yes."

"Then none of your town manners, please. No putting silly notions in that girl's head. It's full enough already."

"Who? I? Put silly notions in her head?" said Geoffrey, showing his white teeth as he removed his cigar from his lips and exhaled a great cloud of smoke. "Don't be afraid, old gentleman. I'm a man without a heart. Besides which, I'm engaged."

"More fool you. Bah! Look at me."

"I have looked at you," said Geoffrey, coolly; "I know you by heart already."

"Bah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old gentleman, testily. "Engaged--married-- insanity! A young man madly makes up his mind to keep a woman and a lot of children in bread and b.u.t.ter, like poor Rumsey, our doctor. Thinks it is going to be a pleasant burthen, and dreams on till he wakes--poor devil!"

"You don't approve, then, of matrimony?"

"Approve? No, I don't. I have seen too much of it in others. Young half-brother of mine marries that woman there; keeps poor in consequence; dies poor, leaving her and her child poor--paupers both of 'em."

"Hah! yes," said Geoffrey; "there are more poor than rich in the world."

"Their own fault. Don't you make a poor man of yourself."

"Don't mean to," said Geoffrey, quietly. "My mistress--my wife, if you like--is Science. Do you like bad smells?"

"Do I like _what_?"

"Bad smells. Because my chemicals will be down in a few days. I try experiments, and sometimes strong odours arise."

"Humph!" growled Uncle Paul. "Open the window, then. So your wife's Science, is she?"

"Bless her: yes," cried Geoffrey, emphatically. "She's a tricksy coquette, though."

"So's Madge, there," said the old man.

"Is she?" said Geoffrey, looking at him, curiously. "I say, old gentleman, you are not very complimentary to your relatives; but I understand your hints: so look here. I'm not a lady's man, and your niece will be free from any pursuit of mine; and if she gets--what do you call it?--setting her cap at me, she'll give me up in four-and-twenty hours in disgust."

"On account of Miss Science, eh?" said the old gentleman, grimly. "But I thought you said you were an engineer?"

"I am."

"Then--then, why are you here? got an appointment?"

"Look here, Mr Paul," said Geoffrey, laughing, "as we are to be such near neighbours, and you evidently would like me to make a clean breast of it, here it all is:--I am a mining engineer; a bit of a chemist; I have no appointment; and I have come down to get one."

"Then you've come to the wrong place, young man."

"So Mr Penwynn told me."

"Oh, you've been there, have you?"

"Yes."

"Seen his daughter?"

"No, nor do I want to see her," said Geoffrey, throwing the end of his cheroot out of the window. "I'll take another of those cheroots, sir.

They're strong and full-flavoured; I like them. So you think I've come to the wrong place, do you?"

"Yes," said Uncle Paul, pa.s.sing the blackest and strongest cheroot in his case. "Of course I do. The mining is all going to the dogs. The companies are one-half of them bankrupt, and the other half pay no dividends. The only people who make money are a set of scoundrelly adventurers who prospect for tin, and when they have found what they call a likely spot--"

Here there was a pause, while the old gentleman also lit a fresh cheroot.

"--They get up a company; play games with the shares, and get fools to take them, whose money goes down a big hole in the earth."

"And never comes up again, eh?"

"Never?" said the old man, emphatically.

"Ever been bitten that way?" said Geoffrey, smiling.

"Yes: once," snarled the other. "They got a hundred pounds out of me over a promising-looking affair--that mine down yonder on the point-- Wheal Carnac. Smooth-tongued scoundrel talked me over. Just such a fellow as you."

"Indeed!" said Geoffrey, smiling.

"Been a lesson to me, though, that I've never forgotten."

"And yet there is money to be made out of mines," said Geoffrey, quietly. "With proper care, judgment, and good management there are plenty of lapsed undertakings that could be revived, and would pay their shareholders well."

"Make Wheal Carnac pay, then, and my hundred pounds something better than waste paper."

"I do not see why not," said Geoffrey, earnestly.

Old Mr Paul pushed back his chair and made it scroop loudly on the summer-house floor, as he bared his yellow teeth in a grin.

"I thought so," he exclaimed, with a harsh chuckle. "There, out with it, man! What's the mine? Is it Wheal Ruby, or Bottom Friends.h.i.+p, or Evening Star, or what? How many shares are you going to stick into some noodle or another?"

"I sell shares? Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Geoffrey. "I never held or sold one in my life. No, sir, I am no share-jobber. I have come down here to carve my way in quite different fas.h.i.+on."

"In granite?" sneered the old man.