"It is refreshing to see a place of business open in times like these," said Nathaniel. "But I knew Rufus Stevens' Sons would be. Your pushing merchant does not permit an unfortunate state of public mind to step into his path."
"As we were coming down the street," said Rehoboam, "I said to Nathaniel, 'Brother, I am sure Rufus Stevens' Sons will be open and thriving as usual.' It is not for nothing," and Rehoboam showed all the spaces between his teeth in a wide smile, "that this business has earned such approval in the community."
Tom Horn did not speak; he sat on his long-legged stool, and looked at them, as a man might look at a pair of corbies that had thrust themselves upon his attention.
"You are Mr. Horn," said Nathaniel, grinning engagingly; "Mr. Horn, who has been with the house so long. Faithful service, sir, will be rewarded. Oh, yes, sooner or later, it will be rewarded. That is a rule that has never failed." He looked about and asked, "Where is Mr. Charles?"
"I don't know," said Tom Horn.
"He has not gone away!" said Nathaniel hastily. "Oh, no. He would not be afraid of the plague."
"He is still in the city," affirmed Rehoboam. "He has been seen more than once of late, in the street, and working with the grave-makers in the potter's-field."
"I have not said he had gone away," answered Tom Horn. "I have said, I do not know where he is; and no more do I."
"Very well," said Nathaniel. "It does not matter. We may see Captain Weir, I suppose?"
"You may," said Tom Horn, "if he is willing."