But Robert Morris offered them scant satisfaction.
“You will have to gather round about, my good friends, before I relieve myself of my budget. I have news of the first importance—news that must come home to every real friend of the cause.” Here the door of the Sharpless house opened, and the nightcapped householder showed himself, candle in hand. “You will find me in the parlor of Jethro Sharpless; and any of you, who care to hear what General Washington himself says, will gather there at once.”
In the parlor, Mr. Sharpless, who was a tall, bony man, with scraggy, gray brows, placed his brass candlestick upon the table and looked at the two who had so disturbed his sleep.
“News from the Jerseys,” said he, his scraggy brows drawn together with anxiety. “And what has been toward, Friend Morris? Has there been a swording and a bickering with the guns? Or has the army retreated once more?”
Mr. Morris took a seat at one corner of a settle, crossed his legs and balanced his three-cornered hat in his hands.
“I fancy,” said he, quietly, “there will be a number of your neighbors here in a few moments, Friend Sharpless; so, perhaps, we had better save the news until they arrive.”
With as good a grace as may be, the householder set about waiting; and in no great while Mr. Morris was surrounded by a ring of eager faces.
“Come now, the news,” was demanded of him.
“Never say it was anything but a victory,” said a second.
“Trenton has but whetted our appetite,” declared another. “Americans can beat the British as readily as they can the Hessians, so let’s to the news of how they did it.”