The broad-fronted brick mansion in Crown Street was much like its master. It spoke eloquently of the days gone by; its furnishing and appointments clung as tenaciously to things past as did the political beliefs of their owner.
A serving man in livery of blue and white admitted them; and the merchant at once led George into a room where they found Major Hyde and the dragoon, Henderson, lounging.
“Gentlemen,” said the old Tory, most ceremoniously, “I desire to present you to a young gentleman who did me a service some time since. Mr. Prentiss—Major Hyde—Captain Henderson.”
Both officers greeted the young man cordially.
“We had the good luck to meet with him when he first came to New York,” said Hyde. Then with a laugh, he added: “Though we did not consider it good luck at the time, judging by our greetings.”
“’Pon my word,” said the dragoon, earnestly, “I was never so completely pinked over anything in my life. Would you believe it,” to the merchant, “I selected him as one to try my wit upon. And he flayed me, sir. He flayed me.”
The old Tory laughed.
“I can well believe it. He’s a good up-standing lad in more ways than one, I promise you.” Then after some further conversation, he said: “But I’ll leave him here with you for a few moments. I have some small matters to see to.”
When George met the merchant in the street, the sky was rapidly becoming overcast, and the wind raising eddies of dust; and as they entered the house, large scattering drops began to fall. Now, as the old gentleman left the room, the storm broke, and torrents of driving rain dashed against the windows.
“Hello, hello!” cried Henderson, “here’s a state of things, ’pon my soul! There’s rain enough for you, major, in all conscience.”