“There is fresh news, then, from Boston way? Of what nature is it, young man?”
“Any news that I personally have,” said the youth, “is very commonplace and of no value.”
“That you personally have? Ah, yes, perhaps,” and here the man’s face grew more interrogative than ever. “But your dispatches?”
“They are for the eye of the commandant of New York,” replied young Prentiss, annoyed.
“But surely,” and the merchant smiled in a very knowing way, “you had a little glance at them on the way—the briefest, of course, but still a glance.”
The youth’s face flushed beneath the bronze. “Do you speak in ignorance of a soldier’s duty, sir?” demanded he; “or is this meant for an insult?”
The inquisitive face of the merchant paled. “No, no!” cried he in much haste. “An insult! Goodness bless you, young man—no! Why, I thought the thing would be the most natural in the world. Just a slight glimpse, you see. What hurt would it do? I’ll leave it to any gentleman here.”
But none of the party saw fit to support him; and much abashed he fell to the rear, not relishing George’s looks. The foppish dragoon had by this time recovered, and now put himself forward.
“I presume by your tone,” said he, acidly, “that you hold the commission of Congress.”
But George shrugged his shoulders.