“No—no, I dare not.”
“And it gives a neighbour a chance to beg your acceptance of a little drop o’ real cognac, Sir Risdon—so good in case o’ sickness. And a bit of prime tay, such as would please her ladyship. Then think how pleasant a pipe is, Sir Risdon; I’ve got a bit o’ lovely tobacco at my place, and a length or two of French silk.”
“Master Shackle! Master Shackle!” cried the tall thin baronet piteously, “how can you tempt a poor suffering gentleman like this?”
“Because I want to do you a bit of good, Sir Risdon, and myself too. I tell you it’s safe enough. You’ve only to leave your side door open, and go to bed; that’s all.”
“But I shall be as guilty as you.”
“Guilty?” the man laughed. “I never could see a bit o’ harm in doing what I do. Never feel shamed to look my boy Ramillies in the face. If a bit o’ smuggling was wrong, Sir Risdon, think I’d do it? No, sir; I think o’ them as was before me. My father was in Marlborough’s wars, and he called me Blenheim, in honour of the battle he was in; and I called my boy Ramillies, and if ever he gets married, and has a son, he’s to be Malplackey. I arn’t ashamed to look him in the face.”
“But I shall be afraid to look in the face of my dear child.”
“Mistress Denise, Sir Risdon? Tchah! Bless her! I don’ believe she’d like her father to miss getting a lot of things that would be good for him, and your madam. There, Sir Risdon; don’t say another word about it. Leave the door open, and go to bed. You shan’t hear anybody come or go away, and you’re not obliged to look in the cellars for a few days.”
“But, my child—the old servant—suppose they hear?”
“What? The rats? Tell ’em to take no notice, Sir Risdon. Good day, Sir Risdon. That’s settled, then?”