"I cannot think th' bairn wor telling 'em lies," the elder one mused again. "Gi'e me another match," said his brother. The alder-buyer's wrinkled eyes were peering sideways at an auction announcement pinned to the wall. He shifted his feet in the legs of the tall stool. By and by he spoke again. "Let's see. Let's study it out.... We com' home at tea-time that day, didn't we?" "Ay." "Then we went out into th' yard and washed we'rsens at th' bucket." "Ay." A pause, and then, the speaker's eyes on his hearer's face like two prickers: "Did yet tak' your waistcoat off?" "I cannot tell ye." "I did mine. I threw it down on a chair i' t' kitchen." This time the younger brother shifted his feet. "Happen I did mine an' all." "Wor your watch i' your pocket?" "Ay, it wad be." "So wor mine." They drank thoughtfully and simultaneously, and again the silence fell. Then, more slowly still, the elder Kerr resumed. "D'ye remember a chap coming in, a thin chap, 'at spoke Welsh to t' Missis?" "Ay." "He com' to fetch a pair o' boots to mend." "Ay." "Think ye----" again the look as of prickers, "--think ye there wor owt?" "How, owt?" "'At he wanted to know what time it wor, or owt?" "There wor t' clock." "Ay...." There were minutes of silence this time. Evidently the younger brother occupied them by taking, in thought, a considerable journey. He spoke as if in objection to some far-fetched surmise. "But they'd ha' to be set forrard again," he grunted. "Ay, I'm bothered wi' that," the elder admitted, "--wi'out t' Missis herself----" "Aw!... Think ye?..." They knocked for two more cups of tea. "And we've been swearing to ten o'clock." "So ye think there wor summat?" "I cannot think t' lad wor telling 'em lies," said the alder-buyer. This time they both peered reflectively at the auction announcement on the wall, smoking and spitting as they peered. V THE HAFOD UNOS "Then," said Terry's Syndicate, or such of its members as lounged in Terry's office, looking down on the Lime Street and St. George's Hall pavements as if they had been so many fishermen selecting a likely spot for the casting of a fly, "what about going back to the old idea--coal?" "Hm!----" (a very dubious "Hm!").--"Far better have another shot at manganese--especially after what's happened----" What had happened had started remotely enough from Llanyglo. It had started, to be exact, in the Balkans. Much manganese comes from the Balkans; a war there had suddenly made the supply a mere trickle, so that prices had whooped up; and--wonder of wonders--those old workings of Squire Wynne's, farther along the coast, actually looked like paying. Terry's Company, unhappily, had just transferred its rights, and was rather sore about it. "Wouldn't that be a little too--timely?" a timid member suggested. "Not if you--er--put it properly. It's only thirty miles away----" The speaker paused from delicacy. "From the real manganese" was understood.