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People did not tumble over one another in any haste to respond. Theymight not be clever, but they could be suspicious, and they asked atonce for particulars, desired to see the good thing for themselves, andsome of them wanted the twenty per cent, paid in advance by way ofguarantee against loss. There were plenty of wild stories concerning thetreasures of the moor. Were there not, upon every side, evidences of theexistence of precious minerals in the shape of abandoned mines? Therewere tales of rich lodes which had been lost, but were sure to be pickedup again some day. The mining tradition was strong; but it was notoriousthat copper and tin could hardly be worked at a profit. Pezzack answeredthat he had discovered nickel, which was something far better, and hisannouncement certainly did cause some of the flutter which Pendoggat hadlooked for. The retired grocer took advantage of an excursion train toPlymouth, ascended upon the moor, and having been sworn to secrecy wasconducted by Pendoggat, acting as Pezzack's manager, to the treasurecave, and shown the ripe nickel running down its sides. Pendoggat alsoknocked off a piece of the wall and appeared to give it to the retiredgrocer as a sample. What he actually gave him was a fragment ofdirty-grey metal, which had not come from that cave or anywhere near it,but had been procured by Pendoggat at some expense, seeing that itreally was a sample of nickel. The retired grocer had come down indoubt, but returned converted to Bromley, submitted the sample to ananalyst, and subsequently acted foolishly. He was meddling with what hedid not understand, which is one of the most attractive things in life.Adulterated groceries he could comprehend, because he had won retirementout of them; but the mining industry was something quite outside hisexperience. Apparently he thought that nickel could be taken off thesides of a cave in much the same way as blackberries are picked off ahedge. He confided the matter to a few friends, making them swear to saynothing about it; and when they had told all their acquaintancesapplications for shares in the good thing began to reach the retiredgrocer, who unfortunately had nothing to occupy his time. He was soonfeeling himself a man of some importance, and this naturally assistedhim to entertain a very avuncular regard for nephew Pezzack, and afriendly feeling for the "simple countryman Pendoggat" and the preciousmetal called nickel. He thought of himself as a financial magnate, andsubscribed to the Mining Journal. He talked no more of prime Dorset,nor did he discuss concerning the most suitable sand to mingle withsugar; but he rehearsed the slang of the money-market instead, remarkedthat he had struck a gilt-edged security, looked in the paper everymorning and observed to his wife that copper was recovering, or thatdiamonds continued to droop. The head-quarters of the Tavy Cleave NickelMining Company were really not upon Dartmoor at all, but at Bromley in astraight little jerry-built street; which was exactly what the "simplecountryman Pendoggat" wanted.
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For two hours he worked, like a student on the brink of an examination,trying to commit his story to memory. Each time he read the fictionsthey became to him more probable. He scarcely knew himself what amiserable memory he had, but he was well aware how nervous he could bein the presence of strangers, and how liable he was to be confused whenany special eccentricity asserted itself. As the time when his visitormight be expected approached he went and put on his best clothes, tidiedhimself, brushed his hair and whiskers, tried to make himself look lesslike a Hindoo idol, burnished his queer face with scented soap, andpractised a few genteel attitudes before the glass. He hoped somebodyhad told Mr. Bellamie he was eccentric.
They met no one as they crossed the smoky stretch of moor. It was goingto be a hard night, and already the peat felt as unyielding as granite.The grocer slapped his arms across his unwieldy chest, and said it was"a bit parky" in his vulgar way, and longed for his snug jerry-builtvilla; while his friend agreed that Dartmoor was a place of horror andgreat darkness, and wished himself back in his gas-scented factorysuperintending the transformation of carrots into marmalade. They walkedin single file along a narrow pony track, Pendoggat leading with hiseyes upon his boots. 2ff7e9595c
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