Van Heldre was busy at work with a shovel when Harry Vine reached the tin-smelting works, which the merchant had added to his other ventures. He was beside a heap of what rather resembled wet coarsely ground coffee. "Ah, Harry," he said, "you may as well learn all these things. Be useful some day. Take hold of that shovel and turn that over. Tell me what you think of it." A strong mind generally acts upon one that is weak, and it was so here. Harry felt disposed, as he looked at his white hands, the shovel, and the heap, to thrust the said white hands in his pocket and walk away. But he took the shovel and plunged it in the heap, lifted it full, and then with a look of disgust said:-- "What am I to do with it?" "Shovel it away and get more out of the centre." Harry obeyed, and looked up for fresh orders. "Now take a couple of handfuls and examine them. Don't be afraid, man, it's honest dirt." Van Heldre set the example, took a handful and poured it from left to right and back again. "Now," he said, "take notice; that's badly washed." "Not soap enough," said Harry, hiding his annoyance with an attempt at being facetious. "Not exactly," said Van Heldre drily; "bad work. Now when that tin is passed through the furnace, there'll be twice as much slag and refuse as there ought to be. That will do. Leave the shovel, I want you to take account of those slabs of tin. Mark them, number them, and enter them in this book. It will take you an hour. Then bring the account down to me at the office." "I can have a man to move the slabs?" said Harry. "No, they are all busy. If I were doing it, I should work without a man." "Hang it all! I'm about sick of this," said Harry, after he had been alone about half an hour, and feeling more disgusted moment by moment with his task. "How mad Aunt Marguerite would be if she could see me now!" He looked round at the low dirty sheds on one side, at the row of furnaces on the other, two of which emitted a steady roar as the tin within gradually turned from a brown granulated powder to a golden fluid, whose stony scum was floating on the top. "It's enough to make any man kick against his fate. Nice occupation for a gentleman, 'pon my word!" A low whistle made him look up quickly, and his countenance brightened. "Why, Vic," he cried; "I thought you were in town." "How are you, my Trojan?" cried the visitor boisterously. "I was in town, but I've come back. I say, cheerful work this for Monsieur le Comte Henri des Vignes!" "Don't chaff a fellow," said Harry angrily. "What brought you down?" "Two things." "Now, look here, Vic. Don't say any more about that. Perhaps after a time I may get her to think differently, but now--" "I was not going to say anything about your sister, my dear boy. I can wait and bear anything. But I suppose I may say something about you?" "About me?" "Yes. I've got a splendid thing on. Safe to make money--heaps of it."