A number of persons were speaking through the smoke of their pipes at a round table at Anthony's elbow.
"By God!" said one, "she came racing home, two weeks before her time, and looking as fit as a queen! And until she let go her anchor in the stream, opposite my wharf, she'd never taken in a sail."
"What does your master report?" asked another. "Are there many English or French war-ships in the trade paths?"
"He sighted some sail of them," said the first man, "but they were too far away to give him any worry."
"Two days out from Antwerp the ship Huntress had her foremast splintered by a six-pound shot."
"The British are brisk with their shots," grumbled the second man.
"Too brisk," said the third. "And the French are as bad. If they must cut each other's throats, why can't they do it quietly? Here we are at peace with the world and making shift to get our fair share of its trade, and they must set to popping away at each other, and churning the sea all into a muddle."
"It may be," said a thin voice from the middle of the room, "that I can get your interest for a moment, sir. I am disposing of the cargo of the India ship Bountiful. There is ginger and indigo; silk, piece-goods, plain and in patterns; saltpeter, hides, and shellac. All excellent merchandise and ready for sale, inspection, and delivery."
Anthony felt some one slip into the settle beside him; and, turning his head he saw Mr. Sparhawk, trim, perky, and pink of face.
"Good morning," said the little man, smiling and nodding. "The fine spring days are doing you no harm, I see."