’But if you nip your fingers you squeak. My father is nipped pretty tight, all along of Polpluggan. You see he has another mine in view, and it wants capital to get that floated.’ ’Look here,’ said Mr. Battishill, desperately. ’If it comes to that, and he wants another mine to start upon, let him come to me. I will put him upon a lode, a real lode, and I stake my life there is silver lead, and plenty of it, at Upaver.’ ’That won’t do,’ said Tramplara. ’It isn’t what comes out of a mine that makes it pay, but what is put into it. You don’t understand these things, or you would never have gone head over heels down Polpluggan. There is nothing to be had from you, so I don’t mind saying it. And you are an old friend, and are sucked dry, and about to be turned inside out. ’There is no water that can drown my mine.’ ’More is the pity. It is just the water that makes it pay. But come! It is too late for you to learn the alphabet of mining.’ The bottle of sherry that had been purchased for the funeral was on the table, along with some glasses. Without invitation the young man poured out and drank. ’There’s twenty pounds goes home in my pocket, or it don’t. And if it don’t, worse luck for you.’ He put his hand to the bottle. Herring drew the decanter from his reach. ’What do you mean?’ asked Tramplara. ’Give me the sherry this moment.’ ’You have been drinking before coming here,’ said Herring, ’and you shall not further insult Mr. Battishill by becoming drunk in his presence.’ ’What is that?’ shouted young Sampson. ’Hey! what a moral man we have here. All for total abstinence, I presume.’ He jumped up, whip in hand, and switched the whip two or three times before him; then, looking Herring full in the face, with an insolent smirk on his lips, clapped his hat on one side of his head, and planted himself before him with legs astride, his left hand on his hip, and the right hand brandishing the whip. Instantly Herring twisted the whip out of his hand, and knocked his hat off his head with it, across the hall. Then he handed him the whip again, coolly, in a manner that meant. ’Touch me with it, if you dare.’ Tramplara’s face became mottled. ’Thank you, Mr. Herring, thank you.’ said Cicely, who entered at that moment with Mirelle. Her cheeks were prettily dimpled, the brightest colour glowed in her face, and her eyes danced with delight. Tramplara drew back, grasping the whip by the middle, clenching his teeth, and looking quickly from one to another in the group. ’Come into the little drawing-room,’ said Mirelle, composedly. ’I dislike being present at vulgar brawls. These two young men have forgotten themselves: perhaps next they will proceed to box, which is a disgusting sight.’