“Come into the bar parlor, then,” grunted the landlord, for he did not much relish the idea of a confidential talk with Solomon just then, since it might have relation to a matter about which he had not fully made up his mind to give him an answer.

“Is that young painter fellow out of the way, then?” asked Solomon.  “We have never had a place to ourselves, it seems to me, since he came to Gethin.”

“Yes, yes, he’s far enough off,” answered Trevethick, more peevishly than before, for Sol’s remark seemed to foreshadow the very subject he would fain have avoided talking about.  “He’s gone to Plymouth, he is, and won’t be back these five days.”

“Umph!” said Sol.  If he had said, “I wish he would never come back at all,” he could not have expressed his feelings more clearly.

“Well,” growled Trevethick, when they were in his sanctum, and had shut the door, “what is it now?  Bad news, of course, of some sort.”

It was a habit with Trevethick, as it is with many men of his stamp, to have a perpetual grievance against Providence—­to profess themselves as never astonished at any bad turn that It may do them—­and, besides, he was on the present occasion desirous of taking up a position of discontent beforehand, so that the expected topic might not appear to have produced it.

“No; it’s good news, Trevethick,” said Solomon, quietly—­“the best of news, as it seems to me; and I hope to bring you over to the same opinion.”

“He’s got some scheme for marrying Harry out of hand,” thought the harassed landlord.  “How the deuce shall I put him off?”

There was not the slightest excuse for doing so; if Solomon had been of a less phlegmatic disposition, he might have married her a year ago, young as she was.  “Read this,” said he, producing a letter from his pocket, “and tell me what you think of it.  It’s old Stratum’s report upon the mine.”

“Ay, ay,” said Trevethick, diving into his capacious pocket for his silver spectacles.  As a general rule, he was wont to receive all such reports with discredit, and to throw cold water upon Sol’s more sanguine views; but it was several minutes before he could get himself into his normal state of dissatisfied depression, so much relieved was he to find that his daughter was not to be the topic of the conversation.

“Here’s the plan,” continued Solomon, “which accompanied the letter.  I got it just after I dismissed the men; and, upon my life, I’d half a mind to set them on again.  But I thought I’d just have a talk with you first.”

“Ay,” said Trevethick—­“well?” He was quite himself again now—­crafty, prudent, reticent; about as unpromising a gentleman to “get on with,” far less get the better of in a bargain, as a Greek Jew.  But Solomon was quite accustomed to him.

“Stratum feels confident about the continuation of the lode, you see; and also that the fault is not considerable.  We shall not have to sink fifty feet, he thinks, before we come on the vein again.”