The genial forefather scarcely heard him at all. So interested was he that his own luncheon mattered not at all. Quietly Walton withdrew then, and getting back into Boston Road and the Broadway, betook himself toward the Bowling Green and Madame Kortright’s.
That lady’s mansion was to the west of the old playground, looking out over lawn and lane to some space of water to be seen in the East River and a boat or two at anchor in the bay. As he tapped upon the broad door with its brazen knocker, a liveried servant opened to him, bowing profoundly in greeting.
“Will Master Walton give me his hat and gloves?”
“Ah, Master Walton,” remarked the hostess, who now entered smiling. “I had almost doubted your punctuality, though you have good reason. Whose house is it burning?”
“Count Rennay’s,” answered Walton, mentioning the French representative to our government.
“I have sent a servant to discover it for me, but he has not yet returned. It must have fascinated him also. We must sit to lunch at once, sir.”
As the hostess said this, she turned about in her great hoops, now but recently, like long trousers, come into fashion, and led the way. Her hair was done in the curls of the post-revolution period, three at each side, about the ears, and a tall chignon that was almost a curl in itself. With stately grace she led the way to the dining chamber and bowed him to his place. Eulalia, a daughter, and Sophia, a friend, entered almost at the same moment with them through another door.
At the head of the long, oaken table there were already standing the two black table servants of this dignified household, splendid imported Africans, trained in Virginia. My lady’s table was a-gleam with much of the richest plate and old Holland china in the city. An immense silver candelabra graced the center, and at every corner were separate graven gold sticks making a splendid show.
“I have the greatest terror of fire anywhere in our city,” began the hostess, even as young Walton was bowing. “We have so little protection. I have urged upon our selectmen the necessity of providing something better than we have—a water tower or something of the sort but so far nothing has come of it.”
“You were at the fire, Master Walton?” inquired the handsome Eulalie archly.