Blowing Weather By John T. McIntyre _With Six Illustrations in Color by George H. Mabie_ _Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers NEW YORK_ _Copyright, 1923, by_ JOHN T. MCINTYRE _Copyright, for illustrations, 1928, by_ FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY _Printed in the United States of America_ ILLUSTRATIONS "'You are aware,' said he, 'that you will be posted?'" "A small man ... leaned over the rail amidships, and eyed him with disapproval." "... watched the boat pull back to Le Mousquet." "The roads leading from the town were filled with vehicles and people on foot." "... headed through the mass of litter toward the ship." "And the winds of the ocean stirred about them and filled the sails." BLOWING WEATHER I Anthony Stevens paused on the broad door-stone of the Black Horse Tavern, and looked up and down Second Street. It was much changed since he had seen it, years before; it was now thick-ribbed and confident; there was an assurance in the way it protruded its store windows, like well-filled bellies. But, and the young man noted this with pleasure, there was nothing stodgy in its new fatness; rather, there was that air of readiness one sees on the ordered deck of a well-mastered ship. Second Street had been the much known street of Anthony's boyhood; his racing feet had kicked up its dust; he had spun tops on its stones; he had often followed its length away into the Northern Liberties where the woods began; from where he stood, he could see the turn he'd taken into Vine Street of a hot afternoon, and then down to the river, to splash and shout with other young adventurers in the dock next the shipyard. It was an autumn morning; the wind and sun were in the street, and touched one with a bright coolness. Accustomed to the heavy balm of New Orleans, Anthony felt oddly light, and brisk of foot. He crossed Sassafras Street; at the foot of Mulberry he saw the shallops tied to the corder's wharf, their lugs furled tightly, just as others like them had been, years before; and there were the same ranks of gum, and hickory, and oak, marshaled against the coming of winter, even then stirring in the North. At Pewter Platter Alley, Anthony turned toward the river. From Front to Water Street the way narrowed, and there was a sharp descent by means of worn stone steps; the wind was chill and high on the river, and through the lessened throat of the thoroughfare whistled the reek of the docks; with it came the smell of trampled mud, of pitch and cordage, and the peppery, alien scent of cargoes from far-off places.