"Yes, or I shouldn't be here."
"Ah! I wondered, now, what brought you to this quiet little place. Maybe you have friends in the neighborhood, sir?"
"I'm going to see my cousin, Mr. Bastable. I dare say you know him?"
"Know the squire! To be sure: a customer of mine. Ah! as I was saying, there's a good deal of smuggling on this part of the coast: so the common talk is, sir. Luscombe yonder is suspected, so 'tis said. Mr. Goodman, the new riding-officer, has his eye on the village. But up here on the cliff I don't hear much of what goes on. I keep myself to myself, sir—lead a quiet life; anything out of the way puts me in a flutter at once. And when will the Fury be ready for sea?"
"In four or five days."
"To be sure! And you are Mr. Bastable's cousin! Well, now, to be sure! 'Tis early days for the smugglers, sir: they don't begin, so I've heard, much before October; their work needs dark nights; but I hope you'll put 'em down, sir, I do. They're getting the neighborhood a bad name."
"Well, Mr. Gudgeon, we'll do our best to polish it up for you. Now, d'you think those things of mine are dry? I am getting hungry, and my cousin, I hope, keeps a good table."
"To be sure, sir; a fine man, Mr. Bastable. Though I'm only a poor working farmer, and keep myself to myself, I hope I may count Mr. Bastable a friend. You will give him my respects, Mr.—?"
"Jack Hardy: that's my name. Thanks for the cider, Mr. Gudgeon: mighty good stuff. Good-by. I hope you'll be none the worse for your sousing."
"Thank you, sir. I hope not. I shall take no harm unless I get a return of the flutters."