G'night, kids. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Kneebone smiled assent. "Something more than whisky did that. You must, know, Sir Rowland—for I've no secrets from you—that, in the course of my business I've found it convenient to become the owner of a small Dutch sloop; by means of which I can transmit any light ware,—such as gold watches, rings, and plate, as well as occasionally a bank or goldsmith's note, which has been spoken with by way of the mail,—you understand me?—to Holland or Flanders, and obtain a secure and ready market for them. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack.
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