"No; I can't," Nathan said gravely. "I—I'm sorry to see you in those clothes."
"And I'm proud of them. So you're as much of a patriot as ever? I thought you would turn."
"I'll never turn," declared Nathan. "I'm more of a patriot than I was, and some day I'll be a soldier—"
"Hush! don't air your opinions so loudly around here," cautioned Godfrey, in a good-natured tone. "I'm not going to quarrel with you, Nathan. Two such old friends as we are can surely meet without talking about the war. I can't forget that you saved my life once, and I will always be grateful."
"That sounds well from a Tory," interrupted Nathan. "Why don't you begin by being grateful to your country?"
The other flushed, and for a few embarrassing seconds nothing was said. Standing together in the stream of yellow lamp-light, the two lads looked strangely alike, a resemblance that others had frequently observed. They were of the same build and height, and had the same general features. Godfrey Spencer was older by a year, with black eyes and hair. Nathan's eyes and hair were deep brown.
"You are still attending college?" Godfrey finally said.
Nathan nodded. "When did you come back to town?" he asked.
"Two days ago," Godfrey replied, "with dispatches for General Clinton. You know I went with my mother to Long Island, and there I enlisted in a—a Tory regiment. I was promoted to lieutenant a month ago, and now Major Langdon, who is stationed here, has promised me a place on his staff." The last words were spoken with evident pride.
"I'm sorry for you," said Nathan. "I can't wish you success, Godfrey, but I truly hope, for the sake of old times, that you won't get shot. I must go now. Good-bye."