Ben Cooper arose with much self-possession.
“Landlord,” said he, “what is our bill? Your inn is a fairly good one, but much too uncomfortable for persons who desire to be unmolested.”
The stout host mentioned the sum, and Ben put a hand in his pocket. A look of dismay came into his face, and turning quickly to Ezra he said:
“I’ll have to see to my saddle-bags. I’m growing very careless of late.”
He hastily crossed to the door, and went out. The hard-faced man rose and went to a window overlooking the space before the inn; he stood there with his back turned to those in the room, his whole attitude indicative of watchfulness.
“That won’t do,” said Ezra to himself. “If my plan is to come to anything he must not stand there.”
He was casting about in his mind for a means of drawing the man’s attention from Ben, when Jason Collyer spoke to the host.
“Landlord, I take it that you are not troubled a great deal with Tories in these parts.”
“No, gentlemen,” replied the stout man fervently, “I am thankful to say that we are not. Those who were of that way of thinking went their way into Boston; you see, it was made unpleasant for them hereabouts. If they loved Gage and his army so well, we thought it better that they should be there where they could see them every day.”
“And quite right,” spoke Jason Collyer. Ezra noticed that he no longer took the trouble to keep in the background. At first he had done so, but now, apparently, his plans had changed. “Quite right,” repeated Jason Collyer. “Such folks are most dangerous, and scarcely of the kind that honest folk care to mingle with.”