Old Mr Paul pushed back his chair and made it scroop loudly on the summer-house floor, as he bared his yellow teeth in a grin. "I thought so," he exclaimed, with a harsh chuckle. "There, out with it, man! What's the mine? Is it Wheal Ruby, or Bottom Friendship, or Evening Star, or what? How many shares are you going to stick into some noodle or another?" "I sell shares? Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Geoffrey. "I never held or sold one in my life. No, sir, I am no share-jobber. I have come down here to carve my way in quite different fashion." "In granite?" sneered the old man. "In the world, Mr Paul," said Geoffrey, rising. "And now I must be off. I want to have a good look round. I see that you and I will get on capitally together. Whenever you are in the humour throw open your door, and I'll open mine, and we'll quarrel. I enjoy a good row." He nodded shortly, and strode off, his stout boots rattling the shingle stones of the path, and the gate giving a loud bang behind him, while directly after the echo of his steps could be heard as he clattered down over the rough granite paving towards the shore. "Curse him!" cried the old man, getting up and craning his neck out of the summer-house window to stare after his late companion. "He's a great ugly, overgrown puppy: that's what he is, and I was an old idiot to bring him up here. Insulted me. Laughed in my face. As good as told me that I was an old fool. Never mind: I'll bring him down, big as he is, and he'll do to keep out the parson. Here! hi! somebody, Madge, Madge," he shouted, reseating himself, and banging the floor with his cane. There was no reply. "Madge!" roared the old man again, beating the table for a change. "Madge has gone out, dear," said plump Mrs Mullion, hurrying out to the summer-house. "Where's my newspaper?" cried the old man, angrily. "I never get my newspaper to the time. Do you hear, I want my newspaper. If you can't have me properly attended to by that cat of a girl, I declare I'll go. Do you hear? I'll go. I'm looking out now for a plot of land to build a house where I can be in peace and properly attended to. Do you hear? I want my newspaper--`The Times.'" "There it is, dear," said Mrs Mullion, upon whom this storm did not seem to have the slightest effect, "you are sitting upon it." "Then why, in the name of Buddha, was the paper put in my chair? A table's the place for a paper. Where's Madge?" "Gone out for a walk, dear." "She's always gone for a walk. I wish to good--" Rustle--rustle--rustle of the paper. "--To goodness I had nev--" Rustle--rustle--rustle-- "--Had never come to this con--" Rustle--rustle--rustle. Bang in the middle and double up. "--Come to this confounded place. Hang Madge! She'll get into disgrace one of these--and--eh--um--oh. Hah! at last! um--um--um. `North-west provinces. This important question came on last night,' um--um--um."