In the greatest agitation Mr. Fontaine pressed Claude for particulars. When the whole story had been told, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Nothing to worry over, thank goodness!" he said, reassuring his son. "Nobody will pay the slightest attention to what a tipsy man blurts out against the Fontaines."
"No?" Claude's tone was decidedly skeptical.
"No, they won't dare to."
"Anyhow, we're actually in this smuggling game—" Claude went on gloomily.
"Our competitors call it slight-of-hand organized."
The ghost of a smile flitted over Claude's face.
"And what do they call being at the mercy of a drunken cur's venom?"
"Don't rub it in, Claude. I blame myself severely for your embarrassment. I ought to have forewarned you earlier. But it won't happen again. Depend upon it, I shall lock that fellow's tongue, good and tight."
"Is it really necessary for us Fontaines to have truck with such degraded scoundrels?"