"I will have pitch," interrupted the man. "You may be able to doctor humans, Mr. Dent, but you don't understand horses. They need strong medicines and strong words, else they'll get entirely out of hand. There'd have been no accident last night if I'd been able to speak properly to the beast; but having a lady passenger I had to mind my tongue."
Anthony changed his position so that he could see the man. Yes, it was the coachman with whom he had talked at the Half Moon; and the young man went hastily into the shop. The man gave him a nod of recognition and a thick-shouldered salute.
"An accident, did you say?" questioned Anthony. "It wasn't serious, I hope."
"Only for the horse," said the man. "He's young and not much used to being driven at night; and the way along the river as you turn the end of the fish-market is not very light. 'Twas there he stumbled, and I could go no further."
Anthony cocked a questioning eye at the man.
"The way along the river?" said he. "And turning the end of the fish-market? What were you doing there?"
"It came of my passengers changing their minds," said the man. "We were in Chestnut Street near to Fourth when they suddenly bethought them that they'd do well to drop in on some one else before going home. Down among the wharves is no usual place to go visiting of a night; but, as that was their orders, there I went—or as far as I could; for after the horse fell they got out and I saw no more of them, for I was well occupied in getting back to the stable with a crippled beast on my hands." Here he turned to the apothecary and added confidently: "Yes, let it be pitch. I know that to work well. Don't be afraid that I'll mix the fly into it; I'm too old a horse-leech for that. Get your pitch just hot enough to run, do you see? Spread it upon a common cloth, sprinkle the blister upon the face of it, and clap it on the shoulder. Let him clump about as he will, there it is fixed; and in a day it will have drawn all the humors of the fall away."
"He will have fever from the shock," said Christopher. "His pulse will be heavy and his tongue rough. In that event I would advise pond-dogwood. A plain infusion of the bark makes a draft, bitter, but agreeable and efficacious."
What the man with the injured horse said in way of reply, Anthony did not hear; for his attention was being given to little groups of people who were hastily gathering and dissolving, gathering and dissolving, on the street; other people were hurrying along talking excitedly with each other. Christopher Dent, following Anthony's gaze, also saw them; he opened the door and spoke to a victualer who was passing, wiping his hands on his apron.
"What is it? What has happened?"