The large man took out a silver snuff-box, his great face growing more mottled than originally; offering the box to the other, he said in a tone of much gratification:
“Sir, I should be exceedingly pleased with your acquaintance.”
The tall man took a pinch of the proffered snuff; and as he dusted the remaining grains from his finger-tips, he made reply:
“Sir, you are very good. My name is Hawkins—Tobias Hawkins—and I am lately arrived from Savannah, in Georgia, where I have some shipping enterprises.”
“I thank you,” said the plethoric man, with ponderous politeness. He took a companionable pinch, restored the box to one of the huge pockets of his waistcoat, and went on: “I am Samuel Livingstone, merchant and trader in West India goods. And it gives me much pleasure, Master Hawkins, to know you.”
The two had fallen into a most earnest conversation upon the condition of trade and public affairs when a drum began to tap, and the long lines of American troops and bedraggled Germans fell into column; then at the word of command they went marching away southward.
As the crowd dispersed, Ben Cooper did not immediately turn his horse’s head up High Street, as the Porcupine evidently expected him to do; instead, he sat motionless in his saddle watching the retreating forms of Messrs. Samuel Livingstone and Tobias Hawkins. When he did finally give his rein a shake as a signal to his mount, the curious, speculative expression upon his face did not lessen. And as he turned into Second Street once more, he said:
“Do you know, that was a rather queer thing.”
The Porcupine had noticed his manner, but had made no comment; now, however, he asked:
“What do you mean?”