Of High Descent Part 19

"Yes; to make money. Very useful thing, Mr Luke."

"Rubbis.h.!.+ You're as bad as Van Heldre with his s.h.i.+ps and his smelting works. Money! Money! Money! Always money, morning, noon, and night.

One constant hunt for the accursed stuff. Look at me!"

"I was looking at you, old fellow; and studying you."

"Humph! Waste of time, unless you follow my example."

"Then it will be waste of time, sir, for I certainly shall not follow your example."

"Why not, boy? Look at me. I have no troubles. I pay no rent. My wants are few. I am nearly independent of tradespeople and tax men.

I've no slatternly wife to worry me, no young children to be always tumbling down the rocks or catching the measles. I'm free of all these troubles, and I'm a happy man."

"Well, then, your appearance belies you, sir, for you do not look it,"

said Leslie laughing.

"Never you mind my appearance," said Uncle Luke sharply. "I am happy; at least, I should be, if you'd do away with that great smoky chimney and stop those rattling stamps."

"Then I'm afraid that I cannot oblige you, neighbour."

"Humph! Neighbour!"

"I fancy that an unbia.s.sed person would blame you and not me."

"Of course he would."

"He'd say if a man chooses to turn himself into a sort of modern Diogenes--"

"Diogenes be hanged, sir! All a myth. I don't believe there ever was such a body. And look here, Leslie, I imitate no man--no myth. I prefer to live this way for my own satisfaction, and I shall."

"And welcome for me, old fellow; only don't scold me for living my way."

"Not going to. Here, stop! I want to talk to you. How's copper?"

"Up a good deal, but you don't want to know."

"Of course I don't. But look here. What do you think of my nephew?"

"Tall, good-looking young fellow."

"Humph! What's the good of that? You know all about him, of course?"

"I should prefer not to sit in judgment on the gentleman in question."

"So I suppose. Nice boy, though, isn't he?"

Leslie was silent.

"I say he's a nice boy, isn't he?" cried the old man, raising his voice.

"I heard what you said. He is your nephew."

"Worse luck! How is he getting on at Van Heldre's?"

"I have not the least idea, sir."

"More have I. They won't tell me. How about that friend of his? What do you think of him?"

"Really, Mr Vine," said Leslie, laughing, "I do not set up as a judge of young men's character. It is nothing to me."

"Yes, it is. Do you suppose I'm blind? Do you suppose I can't tell which way the wind blows? If I were young, do you know what I should do?"

"Do away with the chimney-shaft and the stamps," said Leslie, laughing.

"No; I should just get hold of that fellow some night, and walk him to where the coach starts."

Leslie's face looked warm.

"And then I should say, 'Jump up, and when you get to the station, book for London; and if ever you show your face in Hakemouth again I'll break your neck.'"

"You must excuse me, Mr Luke; I'm busy this morning," said Leslie, and he began to descend the steep path.

"Touched him on the tender place," said Uncle Luke, with a chuckle.

"Humph! wonder whether Louie will come and see me to-day."

Duncan Leslie went on down the zigzag cliff-path leading from the Wheal Germains copper-mine to the town. It was a picturesque way, with a fresh view at every turn west and east; and an advanced member of the town board had proposed and carried the suggestion of placing rough granite seats here and there in the best parts for resting those who climbed, and for giving others attractive places for sunning themselves and looking out to sea.

About half-way down Leslie pa.s.sed an invalid, who had taken possession of a seat, and was gazing right away south, and dreaming of lands where the sun always shone--wondering whether the bright maiden Health could be found there.

Lower still Leslie was going on thoughtfully, pondering on Uncle Luke's hints, when the blood suddenly flushed into his cheeks, his heart began to beat rapidly, and he increased his pace. For there unmistakably were two ladies going down the zigzag, and there were no two others in Hakemouth could be mistaken for them.

He hurried on to overtake them. Then he checked himself.

"Where had they been?"

His sinking heart suggested that they had been on their way to visit Uncle Luke, but that they had caught sight of him, and in consequence returned.

His brow grew gloomy, and he walked slowly on, when the blood flushed to his cheeks again, as if he had been surprised in some guilty act, for a sharp voice said--

"No, Mr Leslie; you would not be able to overtake them now."

He stopped short, and turned to the warm sheltered nook among the rocks where Aunt Margaret was seated; her grey lavender dress was carefully spread about her, her white hair turned back beneath a black velvet satin-lined hood, and a lace fichu pinned across her breast.

"You here, Miss Vine?"

"Yes; and I thought I would save you a thankless effort. You could not overtake the girls unless you ran."

"I was not going to try and overtake them, Miss Vine," said Leslie coldly.