“To be sure. It would require one much more stalwart than I to venture upon a matter of this sort, alone. No, no! I can plan and I can direct others as to what to do; but to engage in the matter in other ways—no!”
“Master Hawkins is not here, by any chance?” said Ben, with a studied carelessness.
The cadaverous one shook his head.
“No,” said he, “he remains at York.”
“And Master Sugden?”
“He is also there. Ah,” regretfully, “they have the skilled portions of the work to do, and while I try not to envy them, I cannot help a slight feeling somewhat akin to it. The Marquis,” in a dreamy sort of way, “makes a splendid companion.”
“The Marquis?” questioned Ben.
“The Marquis de Lafayette, that is.” Master Bleekwood clasped his hands behind his head and fixed his eyes upon the ceiling; and his aspect was that of one who sees pleasant things. “A splendid companion, indeed,” he went on. “So much of the spirit of youth, so much dash and enterprise and the desire for adventure and experience.”
“He is with Tobias Hawkins, then?—and Master Sugden?”
“At York,” replied Bleekwood. “At York. The Marquis is no idiot. He has been here long enough to see how matters stand. Youth seeks success, not failure. And Washington is not the winning general.”