It was late in the afternoon; the pale wintry sun was dipping slowly toward the cluster of peaked roofs which marked the location of Philadelphia; the snow-packed road with its topping of ice went stretching ahead like a gleaming serpent.
“We will reach there before sundown,” said Ben, his eye upon the housetops as though marking the sun’s position. “And I trust that we find Mr. Morris at home, for I fancy that the general’s dispatches are somewhat urgent.”
“The general’s dispatches to Mr. Robert Morris are always urgent,” said the Porcupine. “I have carried more than one of them, and I know. And I have carried them for other officers and gentlemen in and out of the army.”
“Merchant Morris seems a most important person,” smiled Ben.
The Porcupine brushed his crest of hair more stiffly erect than ever.
“Is it any wonder that he is?” said he. “I don’t know much about the ways of people of quality, but I do know that without Master Morris there would be little money with which to feed and pay the troops.”
“He is very rich, I hear.”
“I have heard so too. And then, again, I have heard that he has not much more than enough.”
Ben nodded.
“But,” said he, “he has the power to raise funds. He seems to know by instinct the way to hidden hordes. And somehow, he knows the magic word which causes the hoarders to unlock the treasure chests. Congress, I think, has much to thank Merchant Morris for.”