"I can return the saying," replied he. "And let me tell you further, sir, I consider it a damned, detestable way!"
"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed the other. He roared with laughter, and followed it up with a string of delighted oaths. "You are vexed! You are displeased; and right on the heels of such prompt and engaging conduct." He looked at Anthony and roared again. Then, gasping, he stooped, took up his saddle-bags, and threw them over his shoulders. "By God!" said he, "I haven't laughed so much in a twelve-month. It's a pity I can't have more of your society. But that," regretfully, "has always been my fate; exigency has always forced me to turn my back upon good entertainment. Upon my soul," he said, "I never saw the like of it outside a comedy! 'A damsel in distress!' says you; 'to the rescue!' Then out goes my luggage, aside go I, and into my place go they, as nice as you please." He filled his big chest with air, and made the place ring; then wagging his head, and stamping for very joy he made his way up the wharf, leaving Anthony scowling after him and biting his lip.
III
Anthony spent an hour walking about the waterfront, but somehow its interest did not hold. He felt that he'd like to rest, to be quiet; a chair at an inn took an unaccountable place in his thoughts, a chair at a window in which he saw himself sitting, quiet in the knowledge that some bits of savory cooking were going forward for his especial benefit.
"And the Black Horse is so far away," he thought, the few blocks between himself and the old tavern taking on the magnitude of leagues. "Perhaps it would be better if I took lodgings at a place nearer to the center of things." Then the urge behind the thought showed itself, though Anthony, poor youth, was unaware of it. "The Half Moon is well located," he said. "And it should be an excellent house, for well-conditioned people seem to patronize it."
As he proceeded, facing north, the possibilities of the Half Moon grew in his mind. He saw a snug corner, with the light of many candles falling upon a bountifully spread table. It was night, and it had turned cold; a cheerful fire snapped in the grate. There was a glass of mulled ale before him, with a comforting vapor arising from it, and across the rim of the glass he saw a pair of eyes. They were the most liquid eyes he'd ever seen—brown, he thought—brown, and deep—as deep as a pool brimming with early sunlight.
In Water Street, near to Mulberry, was a low stone house with a wide door and two flag steps that led down to it. In a window, paned with small squares of glass, there hung great bunches of herbs, gray and dried, and roots that stretched crookedly about as though in search of moisture. Anthony instantly descended the two steps, bowed his head so that he might avoid scraping the nap of his beaver against the fan-light, and went in. The place was large and low-ceilinged, and heavy with medicinal smells. From hooks in the walls hung more bundles of herbs and roots; shelves were stored with little packets of bark; in bottles and jars were the seeds and flowers of many virtuous plants. A little active old man, with horn-rimmed spectacles, came forward; he rubbed the bald top of his head with one hand and surveyed his visitor with mild attention.
"What can I serve you with, sir?" said he.
Anthony bent over the oaken counter and presented his face for inspection.