IX
The Crooked Billet stood facing the water, midway between High and Chestnut Streets. Swift packets huddled before it; their masts towered overhead, all stepped with a rake; all the cordage had the taut trimness of government craft.
The tavern was built high from the ground to keep it out of the wash of the tide, which sometimes overflowed the docks; it had a broad comfortable look, and a promise of cheer within. The principal room was set with oaken tables; the floor planks were scrubbed to a degree of whiteness, and overhead the beams were brown with smoke. Outside, after sundown, the air had an eager nip, for it was now well into the time of year; and the open fire and whale-oil lamps of the tavern had a cherry glow. Little groups were already gathered at the tables; waiters were going backward and forward bearing hot, hearty dishes and tumblers of steaming drink.
With the assurance of an old hand, Whitaker selected a table; and an attentive waiter made them comfortable.
"First," said Whitaker, "let us have a trifle of French brandy to put ourselves in humor." Anthony made no objection to this, and the waiter departed to bring the drink. "Old Ned Stapleton, who once was a sort of lord of all the inns in the city and had a master knowledge of cookery, used to say that between meals there was formed a secretion that was a most active poison, and needed to be cut away by ardent spirits before more food was tasted. It is so possible a thing," nodded the dandy, "and the prevention so pleasant a one, that I've always given heed to it."
They drank the brandy, and then Whitaker gave his attention to the ordering of the supper.
"A venison pasty," directed he, "and one of comfortable size and that has stood long enough to make it desirable. Also we'll have some parsnips, roasted potatoes, and greens. Fish?" and he looked at Anthony. "Suppose it is a boiled rock, with eggs shredded upon it?" Anthony nodded, and so rock it was. "And ale," said Whitaker, as the waiter was departing once more; "a tankard each."
Shipmasters and mates, merchants and upper clerks, ate of the good food, drank the excellent liquor of the Crooked Billet, and enjoyed the warm fire and the lights.
"A settled, respectable gathering," said Anthony, with a smile, as his eye went about. "And all out of much the same mold. In New Orleans, now, one would see many breeds and kinds; and not only would honest traffic be talked of, about the tables, but many kinds of devilment as well."
Whitaker wagged a wise head.
"Don't be misled by appearance," said he. "In my travels I've learned that roguery is roguery the world over; it has its place in every port, and all manner of men are engaged in it. If your evil-doer has the air of a church-going man, is he any the less a rascal?"
Anthony shook his head.
"I've found," said Whitaker, growing even more impressive, "that people take on the manner of those about them—in a general way. Now, for example, look at those two gentlemen warming their legs at the fire, and so enjoying the flavor of their drink. A comfortable man of business, and a middle-aged clerk who has possibly been with him for years? No such thing. That old codger is one of the biggest rascals that ever shaved a note, and the other has arranged more stinking villainy than any dozen others in the port."
"It is possible," said Anthony, not at all amazed; "the greatest rogue I ever encountered was at Batavia, and he looked like a comfortable man of family."
"Not more than a good step from here," proceeded Whitaker, "there is a section known to shipping men as the Algerian Coast—and rightly, too, for those who have their trade there are pirates to a man."
"I have always fancied that business was conducted rather primly in this city," said Anthony, "and that your authorities looked after shipping malpractice with a keener eye than is done in warmer waters."
"No eye can catch these gentlemen," stated Whitaker; "for their doings are underground; or, if not that, then bent in some cunning way to the shape of the law. Their whole procedure is rich in rascality; many a ship has gone down, and many a business house, also, to their gain."
The boiled rock arrived, smoking hot, upon a large dish and garnished with egg as desired. Afterward the venison pasty, and a notable dish it looked, was placed before them, with stewed whole parsnips and some tender young cabbages.
"Ned Stapleton was fat," said Whitaker, as he set his ale tankard down, "and if it were not for that I'd agree that his idea of life was the pleasantest and most profitable for a gentleman. What can be more agreeable than snacks of good cookery amid pleasant surroundings, and with well-conditioned liquor to keep it company?"
"It has its virtues," admitted Anthony, filling his plate with the savory contents of the pasty. "I'll never doubt that."
"But to be fat!" exclaimed Whitaker. "That is not a state of body for a person of taste. God save the man that the smallest tailor can't reach around with his tape. He is lost!"
They were engaged interestedly with the food when the door opened and admitted Dr. King and Captain Weir.
"Well," said the physician, as he shook Anthony's hand. "I see that it has not taken you a great while to hear of our advantages. Captain Weir you know, I think."
Anthony once more shook hands with Weir; and as he looked into his face he again noted the level, steady eyes, the fixed expression, and the scar across the jaw. Whitaker had also arisen to greet the new-comers; and a few moments later, while he was engaged in some talk with the captain, Dr. King said in a low tone to Anthony:
"Weir is a man well worth cultivating; he has the strongest hand in all your uncle's affairs. He is firm, sane, reserved, unemotional, never in haste; and little escapes him."
"Different sorts of men," said Whitaker, after the two had left them and taken a table at the other end of the room. "Totally different, but, I should say, equally dependable. Fine quality, both of them. But Weir is none of your easy-mannered ones, like the doctor; courtly conduct isn't taught on the decks of Yankee ships."
"They are close friends, though, I suppose?" said Anthony.
"No," replied Whitaker; "no. I think they admire each other in a practical way; but they are not at all intimate. Their being together to-night is, I think, because of you. Dr. King, I think, desires a place made for you in the counting-house."
"I see," said Anthony.
Active inroads had been made in the pasty; the tankards had run low and been refilled when Anthony, chancing to look up, saw Mademoiselle Lafargue and her father moving among the tables toward him. At once he pushed back his chair and arose. His eyes met hers, but she averted her face and passed him by without a word or sign. A waiter opened a door for them, which apparently led into a smaller room; and then it closed, leaving Anthony standing, stunned.
"That was unkind!" exclaimed Whitaker. "Most devilishly unkind. She hasn't the excuse that she didn't see you; she looked full at you."
Anthony sat down, a frown upon his face.
"I hadn't expected that," said he. "But, then," with a laugh, "under the circumstances, what reason had I to expect anything."
Whitaker discoursed philosophically upon the ways of women—upon the vagaries of young ones in particular. Anthony endured it silently; then, so it happened, the door through which the girl and her father had passed was opened once more, this time widely. Anthony saw a group of people—men and women; there was a table loaded with food and drink, and Mademoiselle Lafargue was talking earnestly with a handsome young man whose dress showed him to be a person of fashion.
"Well, dash me!" exclaimed Whitaker. "There's Bob Tarrant!"
The girl's attitude seemed one of pleading; she was asking something of Tarrant, and he seemed reassuring her with courtly grace. And, as Anthony watched, the man turned to another, him who stood holding the door open, and nodded. The man at the door laughed; Anthony shot him a look, and recognized the big young man who had thrown the saddle-bags from the deck of the New York packet. Then the door slammed shut, and the young man, a quizzical look upon his face, strode through the public room.
He stopped at the table at which sat Anthony with Whitaker.
"Good evening," said he to Anthony, his even teeth gleaming good-naturedly. "Well met, sir. I'd thought to see you again, but I did not expect it to be under conditions like these."
Anthony looked at him quietly, while Whitaker was plainly astonished; all who sat in hearing distance were slued about in their chairs, their food neglected while they listened.
"Well?" said Anthony.
"Time alters things sadly," said the big young man, "and apparently it requires no great space to do it, either. Only the other day I would have said you were creditably placed in a certain young lady's favor; and I'd had good reason, for you took up that little matter of my making with promptness, and stood to it nobly." He dragged a chair to the table and sat down. "But to-day," he said, "I see you displaced. She has turned her back upon you; and not only that, but she has taken into her confidence one who sends me with a rather grave message."
"To what effect?" scowled Anthony.
"Mr. Tarrant is of the opinion, since you saw fit to lift your hand to him the other night, that some redress is due him. He has desired me to speak to you, or to any friend whom you might name, and learn if you are of a mind to give him satisfaction."
The words were fairly low; but there was a sudden stir and whispering in the room. Whitaker, astonished, looked at Anthony.
"Is it possible," said he, "that it was you who struck Tarrant?"
"It was," replied Anthony. "And now, as a personal friend of Tarrant's, it would perhaps be best if you withdrew; I have no desire to involve you."
But Whitaker spoke promptly.
"I have always been upon good terms with Tarrant," said he; "but still it does not follow that I should abandon another friend because of that."
"Well spoken," applauded the big young man. "Crisp, and to the point. Here is a gentleman of much the same kidney as yourself," to Anthony. "Impulsive; ready to take up a cause at a moment's notice." He laughed and seemed immensely entertained. "Never an inquiry; never a thought that the matter might be otherwise than stated."
"Suppose," said Anthony quietly, "we indulge in as few observations as possible."
"Excellent!" approved the other good-humoredly. "Just what I should have expected of you." He composed himself to a smiling gravity and resumed. "Well, then, as Tarrant has received a blow from you, I, as a friend, have come to ask that you refer me to some one with whom I can make arrangements for a meeting."
"You are carrying out a code I am not too familiar with," said Anthony. "But I think your coming on this business into a public place and bawling it out so that every one must hear is contrary to the accepted practice."
The other glowed with appreciation and made a wide gesture.
"If I had known—" he began; but Anthony interrupted him.
"You know now, at any rate," said he.
"Having offended, I shall carry out the remainder of the affair with all possible decorum," mocked the big young man.
"You may carry it out in any way you choose," said Anthony, "for, as far as I am concerned, your part will consist only in taking back word to Mr. Tarrant that I decline a meeting of any sort."
Whitaker was a little pale; but he sat still. Again there was a stir among the surrounding tables, followed by a deep silence.
"Then," said Tarrant's representative, "you refuse?"
"I do," said Anthony.
"Do you give any reasons?"
"None."
The big young man arose.
"You are aware," said he, "that you will be posted?"
"'YOU ARE AWARE,' SAID HE, 'THAT YOU WILL BE POSTED?'"
"In any action that is taken against me," said Anthony, "I shall know how to defend myself."
"In all likelihood, the first time Tarrant meets you in a public place he'll brand you a coward."
Anthony looked up at the speaker, and replied quietly:
"If he does, I'll beat him like a dog."
The other stood for a moment, as though waiting for something more; but, as Anthony was silent, he turned, and in a moment the door which had admitted him to the public room closed behind him. Whitaker spoke in a low voice.
"Of course I do not know what is usual in New Orleans. But it must be the same as anywhere else. Tarrant is held a man of consequence here, and to refuse him satisfaction would be a grave thing socially. Is your mind completely made up?"
"Dueling," spoke Anthony, "is a code that has no place in the modern world; it is murderous and preposterous."
Whitaker shook his head.
"There is a law against it, but the man who refuses a challenge is marked."
Anthony looked more grim than ever.
"I am never troubled," said he, "by the way people regard me. And fear of society's disapproval is only entertained by those who value its countenance. There is no force that I know of that can make me place my life in jeopardy at the hands of a practised man-killer; neither can it compel me to go out in cold blood and kill him."
Whitaker wriggled in his seat.
"I'm afraid your uncle—" he began.
"I have not seen my uncle in fifteen years," said Anthony, coldly; "and his opinions in the matter can have no weight with me." Then he leaned across the table, seeing the grave look in the face of Whitaker, and said kindly: "I think my attitude troubles you. Please do not allow any duty which you think due me as a chance acquaintance to entangle you in a disagreeable situation."
Whitaker swallowed hard, but he was firm.
"You see," said he, and his voice was so pitched as to be unheard by the curious ones about him, "my group is the gayer one,—Tarrant and his kind,—and it holds to certain things as necessary in a position of honor! But, damn it all, Stevens! I'll overboard with the whole lot of it; for, after all, what you say is nearer the truth; only most of us have never had the courage to admit it."
A door was heard to close sharply. Tarrant was in the public room, his eyes going about, his face flushed with passion. At sight of him a murmur arose; then it grew until it was a sort of subdued roar, shot through with startled cries; for the duelist had sighted his man and was advancing swiftly toward him between the rows of tables. Whitaker said to Anthony:
"You had better get up. He means to strike you!"
Anthony made no reply; he sat still and glowered at his plate. A close observer would have noted, though, that his swift, powerful body was adjusted for a sudden leap and a tigerish lashing out. Tarrant reached his side.
"Mr. Stevens," said the man, fury shaking his voice, "I have received your message."
Anthony turned his head and waited.
"Let me say to you," proceeded Tarrant, "that while your attitude may serve in a mongrel community like New Orleans, it will not be tolerated here." Anthony was silent, but Whitaker saw his rigid jaw, and noted his back hunch as the great muscles grew tight. "For the last time," said Tarrant, "will you—"
"One moment, please," said a hard, quiet voice.
The duelist turned, and saw the mask-like face of Weir, and a pair of eyes that were as cold as ice.
"I would advise, Mr. Tarrant," said Weir, "that you carry this matter no further. When the facts are known, it will be generally seen that you cannot require any action from this gentleman except that which he is giving you."
The eyes of Tarrant seemed to dart flame.
"What! What!" breathed Whitaker in Anthony's ear. "He'll not dare face Weir! He'll not dare!"
But before it was made clear what was in Tarrant's mind he was surrounded by a sudden surge of people. There was a hubbub of voices; doors slammed, other people hurried forward; there were oaths and bitter vows, and the pleading of the tavern's people for order. Then Tarrant was led away. Weir bowed to Anthony in return for some word of thanks, and turned back to Dr. King. Whitaker, a little later, with a most leisurely air, settled the bill; then he and Anthony got up, passed through the staring groups about the tables, and left the place.
As the dandy was parting from Anthony at the door of the Half Moon he said:
"Well, I think Weir has ended the matter as far as you are concerned; for, once he's pronounced a judgment on a thing of this kind, no one will think of taking it otherwise. He's an authority. And it will be easier for you, too. As it stood, though I think you were right, you'd have had an extraordinary position to maintain."
"I am much in Mr. Weir's debt," said Anthony.
Whitaker nodded.
"When I heard his voice," he said, "I knew that was the end of it. No matter what Tarrant's state of mind, he'd never try to face down Weir."
"Why?" asked Anthony.
"Well, any man who knows Weir properly—and Tarrant does, for he once sailed under him—would not care to measure skill with him in a struggle. Tarrant is a swift, courageous blade, and like a whip for giving offense or taking it. But Weir is of another kind. He has something in him," and Whitaker shook his head, "that most rufflers, no matter how desperate, fear."
Not a great while after Anthony and Whitaker had left the Crooked Billet, Monsieur Lafargue and his daughter, in the private supper-room, off at one side, also stood up to go. Tarrant, now recovered from his rage, was beside them; and the big young man smiled good-humoredly in the background.
"I am greatly in your debt, sir," said Monsieur Lafargue, to Tarrant. "You have shown yourself a friend, at a time when a friend was greatly needed."
"Sir," said Tarrant smoothly, "I am glad to have been of service to you, and to mademoiselle. For no gentleman could have witnessed what I have witnessed in your affairs and not come forward. I saw you about to fall in the hands of Anthony Stevens, the most subtle of double-dealers, and of course," with a gesture, "I had to do what I could to prevent it."
"But, sir," and it was the girl who spoke, "are you quite sure of all you say?"
"Mademoiselle," said Tarrant, "what I have stated is a very grave thing; and so, before saying it, I considered it very carefully. As your father will tell you, the house of Rufus Stevens' Sons has long been engaged in commercial practice which cannot be sanctioned by honest men; things have been done with insurance, and with merchant moneys adventured in their care, which no one of shrewdness can overlook. Is not your father's money in some of the dealings of this house? Has he not persuaded his friends at Brest to venture theirs?"
"That last," said the old Frenchman, "is the worst of it." He shook his head, and his hand gestured helplessly. "If loss comes, I will never forgive myself."
"There was another who had risked his money, one who knew how your father was situated with the firm, one who wrote him a letter," said Tarrant, still addressing the girl. "I refer to Magruder. He saw how matters were going with the house and feared the result. Magruder somehow knew—he was a cunning, ratty kind of a man, who knew many things he was not credited with—that your father had moneys involved, and so wrote him a letter of warning. Is it not so? It was this letter that brought you and your father to this country? Am I right? But for all his writing Magruder was afraid; he'd not meet your father openly; he dreaded some unseen danger."
"And it seems he was right in that," spoke the big young man, his smile growing broader. "Events, I think, have proved he had reason for his dread."
"Before you could arrange to speak with him," said Tarrant to the old man, "he was done to death." And as Lafargue shuddered, and the girl turned away, Tarrant went on: "Who was interested in having this man die at this particular time? Could you say? Who stood in fear of what Magruder might tell? Whose rascally dealings were about to be exposed? The people most interested in the house of Stevens, as you know very well!"
"I thank you," said Monsieur Lafargue tremblingly. "You have gone to a deal of trouble, sir, for our sakes, and have probably saved me from a great mistake."
"Avoid all conferences with the Stevens firm, or any one bearing the Stevens name," said Tarrant, shaking his hand. "To deal with them in any way will bring you and your daughter, both, misfortune."
"But how is my business here to be carried forward?" asked the old man.
"Take heed! If you went to them now, you could merely state what you suspect," said Tarrant. "You would be placing yourself in their hands, for you have no proof of anything. My advice to you is to wait." He nodded to the old man understandingly. "Of course, an indefinite stay here will be expensive, and your means are limited; I know that. But I have suggested a way of surmounting the difficulty. Money can be had readily; old Bulfinch is your man; you have only to ask him for it."
"You are kind," said Monsieur Lafargue. "I should feel helpless and alone, indeed, without you."
Tarrant went with them to their carriage; and when he had handed them in, and their driver sat with the reins in his hands, he said:
"Remember what I have told you—both to-day and to-night. I repeat it all now. Keep to yourselves. Do not trust the firm of Stevens—especially do not trust young Anthony of that name; he is, as I have shown you, the most ruthless of them all. Have no confidences with any one; be silent, and you will win through."
Then Tarrant went back to the supper-room; the big young man was seated at the table; and across from him was a white-haired old man, with the rosy, gentle face of a saint.
"Good!" said Tarrant, at sight of the old man. "I had hoped you'd not keep us waiting, old moneybags!"
The new-comer laughed; it was a laugh that had a soothing, oily quality; one white hand stroked his well-shaven chin.
"I strive to be prompt," said he. "It's a virtue that has a deal of value in a business way. And being early to-night repaid me in an unexpected way; for while I waited in the public room I witnessed your encounter with Captain Weir."
Tarrant sat down; with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, he cursed in cold anger.
"Some day," he said, "I'll drive a bullet through that man's skull, so help me God!"
But the saintly old man held up a protesting hand.
"No, no!" said he. "Oh, no! We are friends. We are all friends together. We have business relations with Captain Weir. No violence; no discord. It would be to the disadvantage of us all."
"My thought!" said the big young man. "My thought, exactly, Mr. Bulfinch. Let us put all private matters to one side; for the present, at least, let us work for the common good."
Tarrant regarded them both with cold eyes.
"Is it for the common good that Weir affronts me at almost every turn?" said he. "Am I possessed of more patience than the run of men, that I'm continually asked to bear his impertinence?"
"Do not forget," said the old man in his soothing voice, "that the plan we are working under is, in a general way, one laid down by him. And he disapproves of the way you have selected in dealing with young Anthony Stevens; he fears it is not a good way."
Tarrant sneered; but it was the big young man who spoke.
"I have no good reason to hold my hand where this same Anthony Stevens is concerned," said he. "But, on the whole, I agree with Weir. Keen young blades like this are not apt to be budged by hostile talk, or the threat of blows. It only makes them all the more resolved."
"It is the captain's desire," said old Bulfinch, "to manage the matter carefully; he plans to be friends with this young man, to encourage him, to support him. And, then, one day will come an occasion when what is necessary can be done with safety. And it will be done."
"I have no stomach for craft when a smart blow or two will serve as well," said Tarrant bitterly.
But the big young man wagged his head in disagreement.
"I once thought that, myself," he said, "and risked my bones every day for a little gain. But Weir's way gives fine profits and no risks; we squeeze our toll out of shipmen and need never even take to sea. Instead of facing a roused captain, with a ship's company behind him, on his own deck, we now, thanks to Weir's brains, make a little arrangement with that same captain before he goes on board; and the ship and cargo are ours at whatever place we say, and without striking a blow."
Old Amos Bulfinch smiled; his rosy, saint-like face glowed with mildness.
"Could anything be better put?" he asked of Tarrant. "Would it be possible to state a perfect case in more comprehensive words? Sir," to the big young man, "I thank you."
"But even in the thing you give Weir so much credit for," said Tarrant, "all is not done that could be done. Why are our operations held to a single house? Why should we be forced to be content with Rufus Stevens' Sons alone? There is Girard; there is Crousillat; there is a half-dozen more. Good profit is to be had by extending our operations to all of these—"
But the smooth tones of Amos Bulfinch checked him.
"Rich they are, those merchants," agreed old Amos, "and their ships are many. But each man of them is as keen as a knife-blade; each has a thousand eyes! Where a thing can be done in the shadow of Rufus Stevens' Sons with ease and comfort, it could only be undertaken, in the case of these others, with much danger; at almost any moment we could expect to be laid by the heels."
"Weir is a dog-fox; I'd follow his plan without question where I'd not even listen to another," said the big young man. "Leave the other houses alone. This one is rich enough, for the time, at least."
Tarrant regarded the younger man, and then the elder one, with a curl at his lip.
"You both have a deal of respect for Weir's opinions in some things," he said. "And yet, strangely enough, you have very little in others. There is no thing which he has spoken more sharply against than the proposed dealing with the French agent, now on his way here, in the matter of letters of marque. And yet you strongly favor the project."
"The matter of the letters of marque is to be a venture of our own," said the big young man. "That is, if the captain is disinclined to join us."
Old Bulfinch nodded.
"Quite right," he said. "It is to be an affair of our own. But we shall be prudent, for all that. We shall be exceedingly careful that every legal aspect be observed."
Tarrant laughed.
"A saying like that has an odd sound," said he, "when I remember that Blake here," and he pointed to the big young man, "was brought north to take active charge of the matter—Blake, who for years has given as much thought to the legality of any action as he would to a snap of his fingers."
The big young man smiled; but it was old Amos who spoke.
"Blake," said the old man, "is to take charge when all is said and done; the legal status of French privateers, recruited and armed in our ports, will have been passed upon when he sends out the first of them."
"And when they are passed upon and take to sea," smiled the big young man, "then will come the time to forget legal forms; rich merchantmen will be our only need, and the seas between here and Rio are crowded with those."
"Well," said Tarrant, "God knows I don't want to put myself in a position to block any such flow of circumstance. If there are prizes to be had, let us have them. If we get Weir's help in the matter, well and good. If we do not, we can, as you suggest, go on without it."
"This Frenchman, Lafargue, was an excellent thought," said old Bulfinch. "Oh, excellent! He can do much for us if properly managed."
"I have found a way for that," said Tarrant. "He is without money; I have recommended that he go to you."
"I am always ready to accommodate gentlemen, upon good security," said the old money-lender smoothly. "A good name or two on the back of a bill will go far with me."
"His bill will have no name upon it," said Tarrant. "And he has no security."
Old Bulfinch looked at the speaker, astonished.
"What?" said he. "What? Oh, surely, now!"
"In the matter of Lafargue," said Tarrant, "names and securities must be forgotten. You must only remember that Lafargue is a man to receive special treatment."
"Very careful, special treatment," agreed the big young man, nodding. "He must be beholden to us, he must be tied to us, tightly, in some way; and, of all ways, to have him owe you money is the readiest and best."
"In the matter of money," said old Bulfinch, wincing, "it is wise to use care. Money is not easily come by; and it should not be too easily parted with."
"Any money spent in the matter of Lafargue will be well spent," said Tarrant. "We must have his friendship; for through him we hope to gain the countenance of this other Frenchman, Genêt."
"And keep well to mind who and what Genêt is; he is the French minister, now on his way here for the sole purpose of arming American ships to sail under the French flag. He was Lafargue's friend in France," said the big young man, "and we must see to it that he is our friend here."
Tumblers of hot drink were brought them, and, with the plates and cups pushed to one side of the table, they talked and drank and planned. The coming of Lafargue to the city, so it seemed, had startled them, at first. Untold harm might have been done by it, had not Charles Stevens happened to be away. But now, on the whole, they were pleased with the old Frenchman's arrival. Monsieur Lafargue had no legal proof of any slack dealing, and so he could not appeal to the law; they had so filled his mind with apprehension that he'd not dare enter the counting-room of Rufus Stevens' Sons and frankly tell what he thought of the various transactions that troubled him. Altogether it was agreed, they were safe from him. And his tightened circumstances now delivered him into their hands; being a friend to the French agent, he'd have much influence. Legalized piracy! By God, it was like a dream of paradise! You sailed the seas with a good ship under you; you took what you liked, and the law supported you! Oh, yes, on the whole they were now pleased with the old Frenchman's coming. They had hoped in the regular course of things to get commissions for a vessel or two from Genêt; but now, look you, a fleet was not impossible. Give them the harrying of the seas for three months' time, and you, or any one else, could do what you pleased. They would be satisfied.
"But," said old Amos Bulfinch, as he was about to go, "I have seen Lafargue's daughter. She is not one to be easily misled. By some chance she might distrust this matter of ours, and might warn her father away."
"Never fear for that," said Tarrant, as he rang the bell for more drink. "That event has been provided for, and by no less a person than Weir himself. He has suggested a little ruse, to safeguard those things in which he is interested; but it so chances that it safeguards our venture as well. You need fear nothing from the girl; she will have her mind filled with other matters, I promise you that."
"Keep your ears open in the next few days," smiled the big young man. "Common gossip will tell you much."
Old Amos wore the look of a peaceful saint, so calm was he of face, so rosy of color, so white of hair, as he bade them good night; and then he went out, leaving them together at the table awaiting the liquor they had ordered.