Of High Descent

“No need?”

“No, my child. I have for some days past been thinking over this very thing, just in the light in which you placed it.”

“You have?”

“Yes, and I had a long talk with George Vine this afternoon respecting his son.”

“Oh, father!”

“I told him I could see that the trouble was growing bigger and telling upon him, and proposed that I should take Harry here.”

Madelaine had started to her feet.

“Presuming that he does not refuse after his father has made my proposals known, Harry Vine comes here daily to work.”

Madelaine’s arms were round her father’s neck.

“You have made me feel very happy and satisfied, my dear, and may Heaven speed what is going to be a very arduous task.”

Just then Mrs Van Heldre raised her head and looked round.

“Bless my heart!” she exclaimed. “I do believe I have nearly been to sleep.”

Volume One – Chapter Eight.

Uncle Luke Speaks his Mind

“Hallo, Scotchman!”

“Hallo, Eng – I mean French – What am I to call you, Mr Luke Vine?”

“Englishman, of course.”

Uncle Luke was seated, in a very shabby-looking grey tweed Norfolk jacket made long, a garment which suited his tastes, from its being an easy comfortable article of attire. He had on an old Panama hat, a good deal stained, and had a thick stick armed with a strong iron point useful for walking among the rocks, and upon this staff he rested as he sat outside his cottage door watching the sea and pondering as to the probability of a shoal of fish being off the point.

His home with its tiny scrap of rough walled-in garden, which grew nothing but sea holly and tamarisk, was desolate-looking in the extreme, but the view therefrom of the half natural pier sheltering the vessels in the harbour of the twin town was glorious.

He had had his breakfast and taken his seat out in the sunshine, when he became aware of the fact that Duncan Leslie was coming down from the mine buildings above, and he hailed him with a snarl and the above words.

“Glorious morning.”

“Humph! Yes, but what’s that got to do with you?”

“Everything. Do you suppose I don’t like fine weather?”

“I thought you didn’t care for anything but money-grubbing.”

“Then you were mistaken, because I do.”

“Nonsense! You think of nothing but copper, spoiling the face of nature with the broken rubbish your men dig out of the bowels of the earth, poisoning the air with the fumes of those abominable furnaces. Look at that!”

The old man raised his stick and made a vicious dig with it in the direction of the mine.

“Look at what?”

“That shaft. Looks like some huge worm that your men disturbed down below, and sent it crawling along the hill slope till it could rear its abominable head in the air and look which way to go to be at rest.”

“It was there when I took the mine, and it answers its purpose.”

“Bah! What purpose? To make money?”

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

“Rubbish! You’re as bad as Van Heldre with his ships 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 unbiassed 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.”