“Ah,” said Ben Cooper, “it’s a grave pleasure to be well spoken of by distant friends. Walk along with me to headquarters.”
“Ay, that it is,” and the tone of the man’s voice was slightly mocking. “That it is, my lad. But what if you should hear that you were ill spoken of, and that the distant ones were not friends?”
“In that case,” said Ben, promptly enough, “I should say that it were all one. To have enemies speak evil of one is to show that one is at least worthy of their ill will.”
“If all that I’ve heard,” said Johnson Quinsey, “be taken at its face value, you are ill thought of, indeed, in certain circles. But,” and the man’s face grew grave and his tone lost its lightness, “it was not mere ill speaking only that I marked. They fear you; and where such as they fear, there is danger.”
“For the person feared?” said Ben.
“Exactly. And their arms are long, young gentleman, and their clutch is strong. They are not ones to be despised, these enemies of yours at York.”
“At York!” said Ben. The Congress was now meeting there. His eyes took on a glint that the other noted immediately. It was that sparkle which comes with expectation.
“No less a place,” said Johnson Quinsey. Then regarding the boy steadfastly, he continued: “It may be that you could, if you so desired, name one or more of these.”
“I fancy that I could name one at least,” said Ben. “And, perhaps,” returning the man’s look, quietly, “there might be two whom I could select.”
“Ah, yes, perhaps there might,” said Johnson Quinsey, encouragingly. “And to venture so far——”