"How so?" inquired Benjamin, considerably surprised.
"They are bad girls, and thee is not much acquainted with the ways of the world."
"You are right, madam; I am not much acquainted with the women world, and I dare say they might easily lead me astray." Benjamin did not exactly believe what the Quakeress said, but he was a little given to humor, and so he spoke as he did.
"It is a serious matter, young man; thee may depend on that. I know that they are bad girls by their actions. They mean to set a snare for thee."
"Well, I assure you that I will not fall into it. They have not caught me yet."
"And I hope they won't," added the good lady. "If I were in your place I would cut their acquaintance at once. And she stated some things she had observed of their acts, and a remark one of them made, all of which convinced Benjamin that she was right.
"I thank you for your interest," said Benjamin "I will not keep up an acquaintance with them, but will follow your advice."
The good lady kept her eye on Benjamin, and so did the girls. The latter plied their arts with considerable ingenuity to lure him on, but his eyes were opened now, and he avoided them as much as he could. Before reaching New York, however, the girls managed to inform him where they lived, and gave him a very pressing invitation to call. The outcome was as follows, given in his own language, as related in his "Autobiography":
"When we arrived at New York, they told me where they lived, and invited me to come and see them; but I avoided it, and it was well I did. For the next day the captain missed a silver spoon and some other things, that had been taken out of his cabin, and, knowing that these were a couple of strumpets, he got a warrant to search their lodgings, found the stolen goods, and had the thieves punished. So, though we had escaped a sunken rock, which we scraped upon in the passage, I thought this escape of rather more importance to me."
When Benjamin arrived in New York, John Collins was waiting there for him, but it was John Collins drunk.