“Only that I understand the traffic is widespread and the Sussex smugglers are accounted desperate fellows and very cunning, as——”
“And I tell ye, sir, they are demn’d rogues and may be desperate as they will, but I’ll break ’em! Aye, by heaven, I will if I have to call in the soldiery and shoot ’em down!”
“’Twould be a little arbitrary, sir!” ventured the mild gentleman again.
“Arbitrary, sir—good! Such ha’ been my methods all my life and always will be. Have ye any other observations to offer, sir?”
“No, my lord,” answered the mild gentleman.
“Then I’ll ha’ you know there are others besides smuggling rascals that I’ll deal with ... others, aye ... just so soon as my arm permits. And my method with them shall be just as arbitrary and—more to the point, sir, the point!” And my lord tapped the hilt of his small-sword.
“Tommy,” exclaimed Sir John at this juncture, “’tis devilish sour wine, this! The properest place for’t is—out o’ the window!” And, with a wide-armed, backward swing he sent the contents of his glass showering over the flaxen wig, wide shoulders and broad back of my Lord Sayle.
A gasping oath of angry amazement; a moment of horrified silence....
“What, have I sprinkled some one, Tom?” questioned Sir John and, glancing over his shoulder, he seemed to notice my lord for the first time and laughed. “Why, ’tis no matter, Tom,” quoth he lightly, “’twas only that fellow Sayle. Shall we try another bottle?”