We were talking of partnerships just now; let us be partners in
Wheal Danes."
"Balfour and Coe sounds natural enough," returned the other, coolly.
"But I must hear your plan."
"My plan is a secret--invaluable, indeed, as such--but which, once told,
will be worth nothing--that is, to _me_."
"You may do as you like, my friend, about revealing it," yawned Mr.
Balfour. "I care nothing for your plan; only, until I hear it I stick to
my plot, my lot, my acreage. Tell me the whole story without
reservation--don't attempt to deceive me on the slightest point--and
then you shall have your way. We will divide this land of gold between
us, or, as seems to me much more likely, browse like twin donkeys on its
crop of thistles."
"I have nothing but your bare word to trust to," said Solomon,
doubtfully; "but still, I must risk it. Come, it's a bargain. Then,
here's my hand upon it."
"Never mind my hand, my good friend," returned the other, coolly. "In
the part of the world from which I hailed last, folks didn't shake
hands, and I've fallen out of the habit. Come, give us this story of
Wheal Danes."
"It's a very old one, Mr. Balfour. The plot of ground you purchased gets
its strange name from an ancient tin mine that is comprised in it, once
worked by the Romans, but disused since their time.
Pages:
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512