Mr. Baily refused any such cheering thing as a drink, and went away, insisting that the worst had happened. Anthony approached Mr. Sparhawk, who sat with a composed countenance in the midst of the excitement, and exchanged greetings with him.
"I am pleased to see you so firm upon your feet," said Mr. Sparhawk. "A little care, now, and you'll do well enough." He fingered the stem of his glass and smiled easily at the room. "Well," said he, "the further venturings of your friends in Le Mousquet have made a deal of stir."
Anthony nodded.
"It was an impudent thing to do," said he. "And I'm inclined to think, it also had in it some elements of stupidity."
Mr. Sparhawk smiled, crossed one leg over the other, and dandled his foot.
"A little good wine at this hour is a comforting tonic for an ailing man," said he. And thereupon he spoke to a waiter, who brought them a liquid that was like pale gold. This Mr. Sparhawk sipped approvingly and nodded over the glass's edge at Anthony. "There is a deal of concentrated life in a thing like this," said he; "and it's often found to hold many a problem ready reasoned." They sat silently for a space, allowing the flavor of the wine to take possession of them; then Mr. Sparhawk nodded through the pipe smoke and huddles of debating men. "Who do you see at yonder table—there, under the portrait of Admiral Jones?"
There was Tarrant, lolling in a chair, and plainly having drunk too much; beside him was the big young man, showing his fine teeth in ready smiles, and keeping the bottle ready to his hand. Rehoboam Bulfinch sat with them, a meager drink before him, and folded up like a scraggy vulture.
"Tarrant," said Mr. Sparhawk, "served his country for a short space, and has done his utmost to discredit it ever since. And Blake is as infamous a ruffian as ever trod a deck."
"Blake," said Anthony, his attention quickened.
"He of the great body and the engaging laugh," said Mr. Sparhawk.