"
"That's just the case with mine," said Trevethick, from behind the plan.
"I thought you might have five hundred pounds or so lying idle, that's
all," returned the other. "I'd give six per cent. for it just now."
"Oh, that's another thing. Perhaps I have. I'll see about it."
"If you could get it me at once, that would be half the battle," urged
Solomon. "There are some good men at the mine whom I should not like to
lose. If I could send round to-night to tell them not to engage,
themselves elsewhere, since they're opening so many new pits just now,
that would be a relief to my mind."
"Very good; you may do that, then. I'll write for the money to-morrow."
So blunt, straightforward, and exceedingly unpleasant a man as John
Trevethick was, ought to have been the very incarnation of Truth,
whereas that last observation of his was, to say the least of it,
Jesuitical. There was no occasion to write to any body for what he had
got above stairs, locked up in his private strong-box. But he did not
wish all the world to know that, nor even his _alter ego_, Solomon Coe.
Trevethick, although a close-fisted fellow, was no miser in the vulgar
sense. He kept this vast sum at hand, partly because he had no
confidence in ordinary securities, and partly because he wished to be in
a position, at a moment's notice, to accomplish his darling scheme.
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