Anthony did chance in; but it was after mademoiselle had gone; and while he kindled the tobacco in his long-stemmed clay, and made himself comfortable, the little apothecary pounded and ground away at the bark in the mortar and took on a look of enormous guile.
"Do you mark how thick the city's air is, in spite of the bright days?" he asked.
Anthony looked surprised.
"Why," said he, "I've thought it quick and pleasant enough."
But Christopher shook his head forebodingly.
"It will be many a long day before the lees of the plague are driven entirely away," he said. "It clings to those things and places it has touched for a long time after. There is no health here," and he shook his head again; "it's a sickly place just now. And, in your weakened state, you'd do well if you'd leave it for a space."
"Sea air is driven clean," said Tom Horn. "Sea air would enrich you."
"I've thought of that once or twice," said Anthony. "A short voyage might go well with me."
"To be sure," said Christopher readily. "Of course. Why hadn't that occurred to me? A steady ship might be best after all. Let us say, a coastwise brig, with a sober master, and carrying cargo that's in no haste."
"A ship is no place for you," said Tom Horn to Anthony. "You need a quiet mind; and aboard ship there will be bellowing mates, and foremast hands who swear sour oaths. And at sea you'd be beyond call if needed in any matter of business."