"Eh?" said Peter, and then coughed to hide his confusion when they all
looked at him.

"I should of course advise the owners to stop work and sink no more
money."

"It'll be a bad day for Sark when that happens," said old Tom. "But it's
not going to happen. The silver's there all right. It only wants getting
out."

"If it's there we'll certainly get it out," said Gard, and although he
said it quietly enough, old Tom felt much better about things in
general.

"You're the man for us," he said heartily. "We'll all be rich before we
die yet."

"Depends when we die," growled Tom--in which observation--obvious as it
was--there was undoubtedly much truth. And then, his little suggestion
of provocation having broken like ripples on Gard's imperturbability, he
turned on Peter and tried to stir him up.

"You don't get on any too fast with your making up to la garche, mon
gars," he said in the patois again.

"Aw--Tom!" remonstrated Peter, very red in the face at this ruthless
laying bare of his approaches.

"Get ahead, man! Put your arm round her neck and give her a kiss. That's
the way to fetch 'em."