me one on business.

"How are you, Jack?" said George Augustus.

"Pretty bobbish," replied Jack. (He was the same Jack whom we have
already introduced as being Mr Clearemout's friend and kindred spirit.)

"Any news?" inquired Mr Clearemout.

"No, nothing moving," said Jack languidly.

"H'm, I see it is time to stir now, Jack, for the wheel of fortune is
apt to get stiff and creaky if we don't grease her now and then and give
her a jog. Here is a little pot of grease which I have been concocting
and intend to lay on immediately."

He took a slip of paper from a large pocket-book which lay at his elbow
on the new green cloth-covered table, and handed it to his friend, who
slowly opened and read it in a slovenly way, mumbling the most of it as
he went on:--

"`WHEAL DOOEM, in St. Just, Cornwall--mumble--m--m--in 10,000 shares.
An old mine, m--m--every reason to believe--m--m--splendid lodes visible
from--m--m. Depth of Adit fifty fathoms--m--depth below Adit ninety
fathoms. Pumps, whims, engines, etcetera, in good working order--m--
little expense--Landowners, Messrs.--m--Manager at the Mine, Captain
Trembleforem--m--thirteen men, four females, and two boys--m--water--
wheels--stamps--m--Managing Director, George Augustus Clearemout,
Esquire, 99 New Gull Street, London--m--Secretary, John Muddle,
Esquire--ahem--'"

"But, I say, it won't do to publish anything of this sort just yet, you
know," said Secretary Jack in a remonstrative tone, "for there's nothing
doing at all, I believe."

"I beg your pardon," replied the managing director, "there is a good
deal doing. I have written to St. Just appointing the local manager,
and it is probable that things are really under way by this time;
besides, I shall set out for Cornwall to-morrow to superintend matters,
leaving my able secretary in charge here in the meantime, and when he
hears from me this paper may be completed and advertised."

"I say, it looks awful real-like, don't it?" said Jack, with a grin.
"Only fancy if it should turn out to be a good mine after all--what a
lark _that_ would be! and it might, you know, for it _was_ a real one
once, wasn't it? And if you set a few fellows to sink the
what-d'ye-call-'ems and drive the thingumbobs, it is possible they may
come upon tin and copper, or something of that sort--wouldn't it be
jolly?"

"Of course it would, and that is the very thing that gives zest to it.
It's a speculation, not a swindle by any mean