“There was a great waste of a very profitable article when they threw those cargoes of tea into Massachusetts Bay,” said the mild man, regretfully. “I have often thought that they could have put their objection into another form.”
“Be that as it may,” and the other smiled grimly, “it’s closed the port of Boston as tight as wax, ruined its merchants and placed its population upon the verge of starvation.”
At this point in the discussion the two boys moved away toward the door of the inn.
“I noticed when I was here the other day that the New Englanders were the most determined and outspoken in this matter,” said Ben Cooper.
“That’s because the greater part of the oppression has so far fallen upon them,” replied Nat, wisely. “I think you’ll find that the other colonies will be in no way backward when the time comes to act.”
Once within the inn, Ben inquired for Ezra Prentiss.
“He’s in the coffee-room, I think,” answered the person asked. “Just walk in.”
There was quite a crush of men at the coffee-room door; and as the two friends were slowly making their way through it, a ringing, pleasant laugh fell upon their ears. Nat started at the sound and caught his breath. Like a flash, the laugh brought back the experience at the ferry landing; in every quality and every tone it was similar to that of the boy who had spoken to him from the darkness.
“Did you hear that?” asked Ben, and his cousin saw that he was smiling. “That’s Ezra Prentiss as sure as you live!”