"There's your uncle now. Of late I can't get him out of my mind."
"And why not?" asked Anthony.
"He's changed," said Whitaker. "He's aged and failing in health. There's not the same stingo to him that there once was. And he hesitates. For the first time in his life, I verily believe, he hesitates."
"It's worriment that the new ship will not be launched in time," said Anthony.
"There's no need to worry about her," said Whitaker, "because she'll go into the water on the day he has fixed. No, it's something else."
Anthony was silent; Whitaker gave his attention to the food for a space, and then went on:
"These Bulfinches and their like are the devil's crew. God help the man who's beholding to them; they'll sit about him until the commercial life is out of him, like vultures do, and then be on him and pick his bones."
"Why do you speak of them?" asked Anthony.
"On two occasions, one of those damned twin brothers—I don't know if it was Rehoboam or Nathaniel—visited your uncle; once I was sent to their den in Harmony Court, with a message. I have no wish to pry into any one's affairs," said Whitaker, "much less those of a man who employs and puts confidence in me; but my flesh crawls at thought of these people, and I wish I could get rid of the thought of them."
"What message did you carry to Harmony Court?" asked Anthony.