“Go and inform your master that I am here,” said Captain Jack. “If he can’t keep _his_ appointment, why, then, I’ll keep _mine_, for I have made up my mind long ago to visit him.” “Yes, and tell him that _we_ are here,” said Faulkner, “and desire to see him.” “Who shall I say, sir?” the puzzled servant answered. “Oh, say anything.” “Tell him that my Lord Smash and friends have called,” said Captain Jack, laughing. “That’s as good a name as any.” “Just so,” another replied. “Do you hear, varlet, announce Lord Smash and friends immediately.” Before the astonished servant could recover his breath, Captain Jack and party pushed their way into the hall, and almost terrified out of his life, he bawled out, the parlor door in hand, “Ladies and gentlemen—Lord Smash and friends.” CHAPTER XIX. MASTER TIM GETS INTO THE HANDS OF SMUGGLERS. The position of poor Tim, it must be confessed, was anything but pleasant. He had fallen into the depths below, but how, he could not tell. All he recollected, when he recovered consciousness, was, that he had fallen into a miserably dark and loathsome place, and not knowing how or which way to move. “Oh, lord!” he sighed. “Here’s a fix to be in. I’d give a thousand gold pieces if I were only out of it.” “Would you?” said a distant voice. “Ha! ha! but, then, you see, you _ain’t_ going to get out of it, my lad.” “Who are you?” said Tim, trying to pluck up all the courage he possibly could. “Don’t you know I’ve got a dagger left?” “Yes, I dare say you have,” the voice replied. “But, if you had a dozen daggers, or a whole arsenal at your back, they would do you no good here.” At the same moment Tim felt a heavy hand laid upon his shoulder, and his limbs began to tremble. “What’s your name, you shivering hound?” said the gruff voice, with a chuckle. “Tim, sir, if you please.” “Tim what?” “Tim Anything—Tim Nothing. I never had but one name; ’tis only rich folks as can afford to have two.” “Come, come, no larking with me,” said the gruff voice. “Speak honestly, or I’ll brain you.” “You’re very kind and obliging, I dare say,” said Tim, with chattering jaws. “But, upon my word, I have only one name, and that is Tim.” “You’re much different, then, to a young chap as we lately collared, and is now in our custody, for he boasts of four names.” “You don’t say so?” “But, I do, though; you shall make his acquaintance shortly—you’ll make excellent comrades. Our hanging days are only once a month now, so you may as well make up your mind to ‘swing’ when he does.” “Thank’ee,” said Tim, gloomily; “you are very kind—very kind, indeed. But, if it’s all the same to you, sir, whoever are you? I’d rather be swung up the next month after him with the four names.” The unknown laughed gruffly until he made the cavern echo again with his boisterous merriment. “When were you born?” he asked. “I wasn’t born at all,” said Tim, innocently. “Not born at all? Why, the rascal is making fun of me.”