I said, "who told you about my great-grandmother's recipes?"
"Well," he fenced.
"Every time we've met for a week," I said—"and we've met pretty often— you've given me a broad hint or so about that little secret of mine."
"Well," he said, "now the cat's out of the bag, I'll admit, yes, it is so. I had it
""From Pattison?"
"Indirectly," he said, which I believe was lying, "yes."
"Pattison," I said, "took that stuff at his own risk."
He pursed his mouth and bowed.
"My great-grandmother's recipes," I said, "are queer things to handle. My father was near making me promise
""He didn't?"
"No. But he warned me. He himself used one—once."
"Ah! ... But do you think
? Suppose—suppose there did happen to be one ""The things are curious documents," I said. "Even the smell of 'em ... No!"
But after going so far Pyecraft was resolved I should go farther. I was always a little afraid if I tried his patience too much he would fall on me suddenly and smother me. I own I was weak. But I was also annoyed with Pyecraft. I had got to that state of feeling for him that disposed me to say, "Well, take the risk!" The little affair of Pattison to which I have alluded was a different matter altogether. What it was doesn't concern us now, but I knew, anyhow, that the particular recipe I used then was safe. The rest I didn't know so much about, and, on the whole, I was inclined to doubt their safety pretty completely.