“Isaiah Pinchbecker, you doubtless mean. And what will you have for breakfast, sire?”
“I will have you carry my bales of merchandise back to my apartments,” said Adam, who did not propose to move out of the house until he felt inclined, preferring to remain there and command respect for himself and the beef-eaters, even while he knew that the landlord had joined the miserable snappers at his heels. “And look to it you move smartly and return to order something to eat.”
The landlord, spurred by the sight of the gold, and eager to make all possible amends for the errors of judgment he had committed, staggered up the stairs, panting like a grampus.
Adam now turned to his comrades, who recited three times over the incidents of the morning, which consisted chiefly of the charges made by Psalms Higgler, evidently at the instigation of Pinchbecker—the nimble-footed—and which had so nearly culminated in their expulsion from the tavern.
Tempest in a teapot as it had been, the business was an indication of feelings which went as deep as politics, in which the whole colony had been simmering for years. Moreover, the incident was not yet concluded.
The same year which had witnessed King Philip’s war, at the close of which Adam had gone away, one of the greatest mischief-makers with whom the Colonists had ever been called upon to deal, Edward Randolph, had come to Boston with a design to despoil the colony of its charter. He had worked openly, in some directions, secretly in others. He had enlisted malcontents, dissenters-from-everything, hypocrites and men with private greeds, in his Tory following. Among these were Pinchbecker, his friend, the landlord of the Crow and Arrow, Psalms Higgler and many others of their ilk.
Now Pinchbecker came under the category of hypocrites. He assumed the Puritans’ manners, speech and customs, and did, in fact, despise some of the looser habits of the Royalists, though he was their willing tool, working for future favor and gain. He had therefore felt himself sorely aggrieved when compelled to his dance, in a public highway, and having first egged on his little terrier, Psalms, had then repaired to Edward Randolph, himself, for redress of his wrongs.
Randolph, thinking he smelt a bluff and ready Tory lot, in Adam, and his company, found occasion to visit the tavern without delay. He arrived while Rust and the beef-eaters were still at their breakfast. He entered the house at the rear and ordered a drink at the bar.
Motioning the landlord to silence, that worthy being much astonished to see him so early, Randolph presently turned about, as if he had not before observed the trio at table.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I drink ill when I drink alone; will you not permit me to order something in which you can join me?”