“There’s a lighter adrift,” said I.
“Yes,” replied Grumble. “I’m too old for that work now; time was. There’ll be pretty pickings as soon as she gets down a little lower. The Light Horsemen have cut her adrift.”
“Light Horsemen! Who are they?”
“Bah! you know nothing. I tell ye again, I haven’t no breath to spare; I can’t pull and talk too.”
I was convinced in my own mind that Old Grumble had not obtained the articles in the boat by fair means, and, annoyed that I should have been made a participator in any dishonest dealings, I was resolved to question him closely as soon as we landed. There was no one at the steps, and when we beached the boat I asked him whether he was going to take the things up to old Nanny’s.
“Old Nanny! no. She’s no fence now; she used to be a good one, but she was overhauled once or twice, and nearly sent on the other side of the water, and, since that, she’s satisfied with little articles, sure profit and no risk.”
“What do you mean by a fence?” inquired I.
“Why, don’t you know that yet, boy? Well, a fence is one who receives things that are brought for sale, and never asks no questions.”
“Well, but if these things were given you out of charity, as you say, why should you want to take them up to a fence, as you call it?”
“I tell you what, Jack, I can’t be answering all these questions here, where there may be twenty pair of ears a-listening.”