He broke off, and slapped the back which was nearest him,—­it was mine.

“Well, Great Scott!  That echo was right!”

“Why?  What’s the matter?”

“The idea of our standing here for a second, when there is a house, and maybe things to eat, and beds to sleep in, anyhow,—­all waiting for us!”

“Where?”

“My uncle’s, of course!”

“That’s so!”

“That’s bully!  Come on!”

“And that’s not the best of it, either,” he said.  “We can make an attack on that house like a real gang of burglars, and enter it in true burglar style.  I’ve always wanted to have a chance to commit a burglary.  There’s nothing so exciting in the world as a burglar’s life,—­but what chance do you get to lead one?  None at all.  I was brought up to believe that it’s all wrong,—­many’s the time my poor old grandmother told me:  ‘Never be a burglar.’  And the effect of that teaching has not worn off.  I still believe that it’s wrong to be a burglar.  Besides, they put you in jail for it.  But this,—­they can’t object to our breaking into my own uncle’s.  Even my grandmother would approve, I’m sure.  Of course, there won’t be as much plunder as if Aunt Fanny were at home,—­she’s probably taken all the pie away with her.  But there’ll be something in the pantry, even if it’s only pickles.  What do you say,—­shall we burglarize the house in style?”

We all agreed in delight.  Mr. Daddles’s enthusiasm, and his curious ideas made us quite forget how tired and wet and hungry we had felt.  The fog had settled down thick again, and the air and earth were damp with it.  Great drops of moisture gathered on the wood-work of the wharf, and on the burdock leaves that grew between gaps in the planking.  High overhead the sky must have been cloudless, for we could see the moon, now and then, like a dim dinner-plate, when there was a moment’s rift in the fog.

“Just the night for a deed like this,” said Mr. Daddles; “come on!  But wait a minute—­there’s no sense in being burglars way off at this distance, we’ll be,—­let’s see,—­we’ll be smugglers, first, —­a gang of smugglers.”

He insisted on forming us in single file.  He led, followed by Jimmy, then I came, and Ed Mason brought up the rear.

“Remember!” whispered our leader, “we are smugglers till we get to the top of the hill.  After that,—­burglars.”

We started up the wharf on tip-toes.  This was rather unnecessary, for as we all had on rubber-soled shoes we could walk very quietly even if we went in the usual manner.  Besides, it gets tiresome to walk on your tip-toes after a few minutes.  But Mr. Daddles kept on that way almost to the end of the journey.  When we reached the head of the wharf he turned around, and spoke again, with one hand held mysteriously at the side of his mouth, so not to be overheard.

“Now, boys,” said he, “if we meet any King’s officers,—­give ’em the cold steel!  If you haven’t got any cold steel, give it to ’em luke warm.  Give it to ’em somehow, anyhow.  Remember, it’s them as try to keep us honest fellows from a livelihood, just because we run a few casks of brandy and some French laces without paying anything to King Jarge,—­bless him!”