We strolled back to the house, Mr. Trewhella proposing a Cornish pasty and beer for lunch. "Now you mention it, that gentleman who was keeping house for you just now said that he was a mining engineer." The landlord's big, weather-beaten face wrinkled like a stained window. He began to heave and chuckle, finally exploding in a bellow of laughter. "Mr. Vargus!" he spluttered, "Mr. Vargus! He _thinks_ he be a mining engineer, but a knows no more about it than my pig! He be a clever gentleman, sure 'nuf. He do have some braäve knowledge to machinery, I'll allow. But mining, and tin-mining!" Mr. Trewhella could find no further words to express his contempt for the mining attainments of my friend with the refined and evil face. "You see," the landlord continued, as we ate our pasties, "I'm an old mine-captain myself, bred and born to it. 'Tedn't likely as I could be deceived. When I heered that a gentleman had come into Tregeraint Manor and the old mine, and proposed to work it, I laughed, I did. I know every inch of Wheal Tregeraint, and fifty years ago it was a fine property. To-day them amatoors up along'll never get enough tin out to oxidize, let alone smelt." "Who are they, then, Mr. Trewhella?" "That's what lots of folk asked when they first come here in twos and threes. They're gentlemen, zur, like yourself, that's what they are. Never was such a thing known in these parts, though folk are used to 'em now. There's Mr. Helzephron, a Cornishman himself, and should know better, Mr. Vargus, you seed, Mr. Gascoigne, a mad young devil if you like, and near a dozen more. They all live together in the greät house on the cliff and work the mine theyselves. Never no one else allowed. They cooks and does for themselves, just as if they was in a mining camp in California." "No women, servants or anything?" "Never an apron. My missus belong to say they lives like Popish monks, which she see when travelling with a lady among the Eyetalians. 'Not so, my tender dear,' says I. 'I never heered that Popish monks spent most of their evenings in the village inn with a bottle of Scotch whisky afore each man, and precious little left by closing time!'" "A hard-drinking lot then?" "Wonderful at their liquor. I tell you, zur, it's good for me! Now I've got used to them and their funny ways, I wish they'd stay for ever. Speaking from a strictly business point of view, that is. But soon they'll find out they've lost their money and they'll jack it up. 'Tes not in reason as they can go on, though they do seem so full of hope and certainty, as you mind to up! But I _know_."