“Far be it from any of us to desire bloodshed of whatsoever kind,” said he. “For my part, I fervently hope that the misguided people of these provinces will shortly see their error, and abide by what the law plainly requires them to do.”
Here the sullen young man laughed scornfully.
“There will be blood letting and plenty of it, never fear,” exclaimed he. “The Sons of Liberty will never give a step in their demands; and England’s present ministers are not of the sort to let a rich prize slip from them without a struggle.”
“And why should they?” demanded Mr. Camp in a high voice. “Why should they, nephew? These colonies cost men’s lives and much treasure to acquire, and why should the government not defend them?”
Here he plunged into an angry defense of any action that the ministry might take; his voice was so unguarded and his manner so violent that the waiters went scurrying here and there; and finally the landlord himself approached hastily.
“I must beg of you, Mr. Camp,” suggested he in a smooth voice, “that you moderate your language. You are giving offense to my guests, sir.”
For a moment it seemed as though the short-tempered old king’s man was about to flare forth as he had upon the wharf earlier in the day. But a remembrance of what had followed that outburst, perhaps, deterred him. He waved his hand, and said:
“Ah, yes; I had forgotten. I ask your pardon.”
Highly gratified at quelling a possible disturbance so easily, the landlord was about to turn away when a voice bellowed:
“Come now, a place—a place! Must I be kept waiting as though my money were not as good as another’s? Get me a place, blockhead, or I’ll see what cudgeling will do for you.”