“ALEXANDER HAMILTON,”
HE REPLIED
“Now, why,” the young man mutely demanded, “should she so set herself to insult me? How have I deserved it? Is there one thing which I have done since I came to New York and which touched her in any way, that has not been in the nature of a service? On the wharf where the ‘Nancy Breen’ tied up, I lent a helping hand to her uncle. And she recognized it as such, for a few hours later when those popinjays on the Parade sought to make me a butt for their wit, she was kind. I helped her brother out of a tight place at the ‘Wheat Sheaf’; and even then she seemed to show appreciation, for she warned me against a mysterious danger. Once more at Corbie’s I try to serve her; and she turns upon me like a fury.”
He was still fuming along with bent head when he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder.
“Your pardon, young sir, if I am mistaken,” spoke a voice; “but it seems to me that I should know you.”
It was Merchant Camp, and the young New Englander, freeing himself from his exasperating thoughts, smiled as he answered:
“I had the pleasure of meeting you one morning, sir, on the river front, when a certain sailorman differed with your political beliefs.”
The stout old Tory burst into a laugh; red-faced and gasping a little, he patted George on the shoulder.
“Right!” cried he. “Right, lad! So it was. I knew, the moment I put eyes on you, that you were one that I should not pass as a stranger. I suppose,” inquiringly, “that I thanked you at the time? Yes? Well and good. But I will also thank you now.” He shook George warmly by the hand. “It was no light thing to do, sir, to lend a hand to a king’s man in New York at this time. It was indeed a matter of some risk. And the deeper the chance you ran, the greater is my obligation.”
“The political side of the incident did not occur to me, Mr. Camp,” said the youth. “I only saw that you’d be outmatched in a game of buffets, that was all.”