“I was afraid it was something like this,” he said, shaking his head. “The wants of the army are urgent, I know, but money is very difficult to get just now.” He looked at Ben and tapped the edge of the refolded paper upon the writing table. “It is a matter of wonderment what becomes of the hard money at times,” he went on. “When it is the most urgently needed, it is the scarcest.”
“That,” said Ben, “I think may be said about most things.”
The financier of the Revolution smiled.
“Why,” said he, “that’s true enough. But money is the worst of all. Let me see.” The speaker pulled open a drawer and took out a book. “What were the last moneys I sent to the general?” He turned page after page, running his finger down each.
“Here it is,” pausing at an entry. “There were four hundred and ten Spanish dollars, two crowns, ten shillings and sixpence English, and one French half-crown.” He closed the ledger and sat regarding it with nodding head. “A small sum, indeed, to supply a general in the field; it could not go far.” He was silent for a space; then he opened the message once more, and reread what Washington had written. “This time such a pittance will not answer. The call is more urgent; a large sum must be had. But,” and his chin sank upon his breast, “where shall I ask for it? Where has my credit not been tried?”
For a long time he sat buried in thought, apparently oblivious of the boy’s presence. Finally he arose and began pacing up and down the apartment, his hands behind him and his brows puckered thoughtfully. One, two, three hours were struck upon the great bell in the State House tower; Ben was nodding in the comfortable chair which had been given him; the financier, with muttering lips and mind concentrated upon the problem before him, continued his pacing. At three o’clock he sat down and began to go through documents, books and files; with a blunt quill he scratched notes upon a slip of paper. It was past four o’clock when he pushed the mass from him and arose; twice had he replaced the candles, and the last were now guttering and flickering in the sockets of their supports. Mr. Morris was putting on his cloak when his eyes fell upon the relaxed form of the drowsy youth.
“My poor lad,” he said, astonishment and then amusement showing in his face, “I had really forgotten all about you. It is too bad of me, but I was so taken up by these affairs of mine that everything else was completely shut out.”
Ben rubbed his eyes.
“I was told to await an answer,” he said; “and believe me, sir, I have passed a much longer and less comfortable time often enough and upon less important business.”
“You are very good to say so,” replied the merchant. He took up his hat, and in the act of placing it upon his head, a thought seemed to occur to him. “Perhaps,” he added, “you are not even yet too fatigued to prolong your share in this matter.”