Anthony shook his head.
"I've found," said Whitaker, growing even more impressive, "that people take on the manner of those about them—in a general way. Now, for example, look at those two gentlemen warming their legs at the fire, and so enjoying the flavor of their drink. A comfortable man of business, and a middle-aged clerk who has possibly been with him for years? No such thing. That old codger is one of the biggest rascals that ever shaved a note, and the other has arranged more stinking villainy than any dozen others in the port."
"It is possible," said Anthony, not at all amazed; "the greatest rogue I ever encountered was at Batavia, and he looked like a comfortable man of family."
"Not more than a good step from here," proceeded Whitaker, "there is a section known to shipping men as the Algerian Coast—and rightly, too, for those who have their trade there are pirates to a man."
"I have always fancied that business was conducted rather primly in this city," said Anthony, "and that your authorities looked after shipping malpractice with a keener eye than is done in warmer waters."
"No eye can catch these gentlemen," stated Whitaker; "for their doings are underground; or, if not that, then bent in some cunning way to the shape of the law. Their whole procedure is rich in rascality; many a ship has gone down, and many a business house, also, to their gain."
The boiled rock arrived, smoking hot, upon a large dish and garnished with egg as desired. Afterward the venison pasty, and a notable dish it looked, was placed before them, with stewed whole parsnips and some tender young cabbages.
"Ned Stapleton was fat," said Whitaker, as he set his ale tankard down, "and if it were not for that I'd agree that his idea of life was the pleasantest and most profitable for a gentleman. What can be more agreeable than snacks of good cookery amid pleasant surroundings, and with well-conditioned liquor to keep it company?"
"It has its virtues," admitted Anthony, filling his plate with the savory contents of the pasty. "I'll never doubt that."
"But to be fat!" exclaimed Whitaker. "That is not a state of body for a person of taste. God save the man that the smallest tailor can't reach around with his tape. He is lost!"