“Call it what you will,” answered the man sneeringly, “the fact remains the same.”
“And I don’t like your calling the fight at Lexington a skirmish,” spoke the blunt-tongued Philip, who had come to think of that first exchange of shots as a most glorious engagement. “It resulted in three hundred British troops being killed, and when Putnam and Arnold hurried up to take command of the minutemen, they walled General Gage up in Boston, for all his army and ships.”
“Putnam!” said the man in his mocking way. “What is he? An old farmer turned soldier; and Arnold is a swaggering, reckless ruffian.”
“Be quiet,” whispered Stephen Wheelock, as he dragged at the man’s sleeve, his face growing pale as he noted the resentful expressions of those about them. “Be quiet, I tell you!”
Danvers’ quick eye saw the effect of his words and he smiled coolly. It seemed as though he rather enjoyed the risk he ran in being so open in his words.
“Never fear,” said he, in a low tone to young Wheelock. “I only want to stir them up a bit. I’ll be careful not to go too far.”
“You’ll get my father into hot water, Danvers, if you don’t mind yourself,” warned Stephen, drawing the man aside. “The Whigs know that our family sympathize with the cause of the king; and it must not be known that we harbor agents of Lord North’s government.”
“Hush!” warned Danvers, in his turn. “They will know it soon enough, and you’ll have my neck in a halter, if you use such terms as that in this public place.”
“Give them no cause for suspicion, then,” said young Wheelock. “I’ve seen them aroused more than once, and it’s not a pleasant thing to look at, indeed.”
Philip Morgan’s ire was aroused by the words of Danvers, and he was talking loudly.