"And now, widow," continued the ruffian, setting down the candle, and
applying his lips to the bottle neck as he flung his heavy frame upon a
bench, "I've a piece o' good news for you."

"Good news will be news to me. What is it?"

"Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression
into his forbidding countenance.

Mrs. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning
too well, she answered,--"I can't guess."

"Well, then," returned the ruffian, "to put you out o' suspense, as the
topsman remarked to poor Tom Sheppard, afore he turned him off, I'm come
to make you an honourable proposal o' marriage. You won't refuse me, I'm
sure; so no more need be said about the matter. To-morrow, we'll go to
the Fleet and get spliced. Don't shake so. What I said about your brat
was all stuff. I didn't mean it. It's my way when I'm ruffled. I shall
take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore
long.--I'll give him the edication of a prig,--teach him the use of his
forks betimes,--and make him, in the end, as clever a cracksman as his
father."

"Never!" shrieked Mrs. Sheppard; "never! never!"

"Halloa! what's this?" demanded Blueskin, springing to his feet. "Do you
mean to say that if I support your kid, I shan't bring him up how I
please--eh?"