Clowes lingered behind for a brief moment after the departure of Howe, in pretended desire to advise Mr. Meredith concerning the British policy about provisions and forage, but in truth to say a word of warning which proved that he already regretted having secured for his commander-in-chief the entrée of Greenwood.
“I heard Sir William say he’d bide with ye on his return from Philadelphia,” the commissary told the squire in parting. “Have an eye to your girl, if he does. Though a married man, his Excellency is led off by every lacing-string that comes within reach.”
The master of Greenwood privately thought that the precautionary advice as to his daughter might come with better grace from some other source; but both guest and host, for reasons best known to each, had tacitly agreed to ignore the past, and so the squire thanked his counsellor.
“Ye’ll not forget to seek out my horses!” he added, when the commissary picked up his bridle.
“Assuredly not,” promised Clowes. “How many didst say ye lost?”
“Two. All the Whig thieves left to me of the nine I had.”
“Fudge, man! Say nothing of the Whig thieves, but lay them all to our account. We’ve plunderers in plenty in our own force, let alone the dirty pigs of Hessians, and King George shall pay for the whole nine.”
“Nay, Lord Clowes, because I’ve been robbed, I’ll not turn—” began the squire.
“What is more,” went on the benevolently-inclined officer, “I will tell ye something that will be worth many a pound. ’T was decided betwixt Sir William and myself that we should seize all provisions and fodder throughout the province. But I need scarce say—”
“Surely, man, thou wilt do nothing as crazy as that,” burst out Mr. Meredith. “Dost not see that it will make an enemy of every man, from one end—”