RIGBY
(somewhat severely).
All that I have is at your service; yet 'tis only lately that lads have been allowed to rove past curfew time.
RICHARD.
Such days as these lads grow to men right quickly. Do you think we waste our time with games and—and snowball forts, Tom Rigby? No! The Younger Sons of Freedom have learned to fight and fence, to run and swim, and to swarm up a ship's ladder if need be. How could any lad be idle these last nineteen days, with fathers and brothers patrolling the wharves day and night to keep the tea from landing; when patriot sentinels are stationed in every belfry; and when all Beacon Hill is topped with tar-barrels ready to blaze out into signals at a moment's notice. I tell you—my very dreams are of defiance! But my deeds—what can a lad do when he goes through life halting? A maimed foot makes a maimed ambition, unless—unless as I would fain believe, the spirit is stronger than the body. It is the will that counts.
RIGBY.
You're wiser than most lads, Richard. You've a head on your shoulders. I've known you long; but you have never spoken—until to-night. It was your will that took you through your puny childhood, fatherless, motherless, and made your stern old uncle proud of you. Why now be down-hearted? I've heard you spoken of as a lad of spirit by Dr. Warren, aye, and by Paul Revere.
RICHARD.
There's a patriot for you! Would I could do such deeds as he can do. Oh, all I think of is to serve my country—my city and my country!
RIGBY.
That's all I think on, too.