Mr. James Nesbit, merchant of Philadelphia, stood leaning against the long, polished desk at the farther end of which two clerks were hard at work copying entries into a ponderous ledger. On Mr. Nesbit’s face there was a look of preoccupation. He drew a deep breath, rapped nervously with his finger on the desk, and, reaching behind his ear, under the folds of his heavy white wig, threw down a large quill pen. Then, taking a big silver snuff-box out of his pocket, he helped himself neatly to a pinch of snuff. Having done this he waited anxiously, as if the expected sneeze might jar his mind into better working order. It seemed to answer, for, after a preliminary rumbling gasp and an explosion, he blew his nose violently, and turning addressed one of the clerks.
“If Mr. Conyngham comes during the next few minutes, tell him I shall be at ‘The Old Clock’ coffee-house”, he said.
With that he took down a great cloak from one of the wooden pegs that lined the wall and stepped to the door. It was raining torrents, and the gutters were running full. With an agility that was surprising in so heavy a man and one of his years, he gathered the cloak about him, and picking up his heels ran swiftly around the corner. Just as he turned he collided with another man much younger and slightly smaller, who was hurrying in the opposite direction. They grasped each other in order to keep their feet, and at once burst into laughter.
“Well met, indeed, David!” cried Mr. Nesbit, even before he had uttered a word of apology, “but you’ve well-nigh knocked the breath out of me.”
“And me also,” responded the smaller man. “You charged around the corner like a squadron of horse. Why such a hurry, sir?”
“A short explanation,” was the answer, “’tis past my meal hour, and I had waited for you till I could stand it no longer. Years ago, methinks, I must have swallowed a wolf, and at feeding hours he’s wont to grow rapacious and must be satisfied. Come, here we are at ‘The Old Clock.’ In with us out of the rain and we’ll satisfy the ravenous one.”
As he was speaking Mr. Nesbit almost pushed his friend ahead of him through a doorway and entered the grill-room of the tavern. A mingled odor of roast beef, ale, and tobacco smoke saluted their nostrils, and the proprietor, his wide waistcoat covered by a gleaming new apron, greeted them cheerfully.
“A wet day, gentlemen,” he observed, “but good weather for the farmers.”
“And for ducks and geese and all such,” interjected Mr. Nesbit, “but I would have you observe, Mr. Turner, that I am a dry-goods merchant and wish the bad weather would confine itself to the country.”
As he spoke he took off his heavy cloak with one hand, and relieved his friend of one almost as large, from which the water was dripping on to the sanded floor. Giving instructions to the landlord that they should both be hung by the fire where they might dry, he turned and glanced about the room, nodding to two or three men who sat at a table in the corner.
“No one but our friends here to-day,” he remarked; “we won’t join them, however. Let us sit apart, for there is much I would discuss with thee.”
“And there is much I have to say also,” returned the other, “that is not for the general ear. Is the post in?”
“Late on account of the roads, I take it,” was the response, “but there will be important news from Boston and New York, I warrant you. But now to feed the wolf! A most inconvenient beast at times, but most easily placated. Ah! there’s a cut of beef for you, and now some of your best mulled ale, Mr. Turner, and thanks to you.”
As if he saw that it was useless to begin any conversation until Mr. Nesbit’s personal menagerie was quieted, the smaller man said nothing, and for some minutes the two ate in silence. At last, with a sigh of pleasurable relief, James Nesbit pushed himself back from the table and set down the empty tankard with a bang.
“Your news first,” he said. “What is it, Friend Conyngham?”
“I have been successful,” was the rejoinder. “She’s not very large, but is prepossessing to look at, and they say a good one in smooth water. Tho’ only a coaster brig we think she’ll serve our purpose, and as no time was to be lost I have concluded the bargain. She is ours in joint ownership.”
“You have been deft, David,” said Mr. Nesbit, “but there is a matter of more importance, in view of the shortness of the time. Have you found the man?”
“The very one; at least believe me that I am influenced but by my best judgment. You’ve heard me speak of him often. My kinsman, Gustavus. He is just in yesterday from a voyage to the West Indies, with a load of fruit, rum, and molasses.”
“The same young seaman who married Mistress Anne Hockley some time ago?”
“The same. The captain of the Molly.”
“I would he had brought in a cargo of powder and cannon-balls. Aye, or saltpeter and cloth and medicines. We’ll need them, for mark my words – ”
“Hush,” interposed Mr. Conyngham suddenly. “Your old enemy, that tory, Lester, and Flackman the lawyer, have just entered. They are a-prowl for news, I take it.”
