But, also, the spring brought other things than the new ship and thoughts and feelings of boyhood. The shackles of winter having fallen from the port, matters sharpened remarkably. Glum faces gave place to eager ones; markets were exceedingly active; merchandise flowed in with gratifying steadiness; cargoes were rich, rare, of unexpected quantity. There seemed scarcely a day but a ship, home-bound from the East, from the West Indies, from the Spanish countries, rounded the bend in the river, her sails full and her decks alive with her company. Each time one appeared a watching merchant thrilled with opportunity; and this thrill found its way into the crush and scuffle at the City Tavern, in Walnut Street, where traders and dealers and merchants met and arranged their affairs, and bought and sold and drank and smoked. It was a low-ceilinged place, with wide windows, sanded floors, square-setting chairs, and oaken tables. It rattled with tableware and glasses; and it clacked with tongues, offering and accepting, protesting and praising, promising and rejecting. Captain Weir transacted most of the business for Rufus Stevens' Sons that was done here, but Anthony frequently visited the place to get the touch of the market and watch the temper of the moment. And so, one day, he went in and sat down on a settle by an open window with a glass of French brandy and a pipe, and composed himself for half an hour's comfort. It was a sunny, blowy day with great palisades of white clouds sweeping over the city toward the sea; a tree growing near the edge of the pavement was white with buds; old horses tramping over the stones tossed their heads, and their rekindled eyes seemed to see the green pastures and bright streams of their youth. The brandy had a fine, full scent, and was thick and smooth upon the palate; the tobacco, too, was aromatic and soothing, and Anthony smiled at the day, at his own feelings, at the world; and he sat back, contentedly, to listen and see. A thick-set little man with bandy legs, and a bullet head set aggressively upon his shoulders, stood near him. "I understand your brig _Anna and Sarah_ is in," said he to a Quaker-looking man. "Is she stowing anything that might take my interest?" "I have sundry items to offer," said the Quaker-like man. "Rum of approved quality. And West Indian tobacco. On Clifford's Wharf, just taken out of the brig, I have Muscovado sugar in hogsheads, excellent for any common use." "There's a-plenty of sugar to be had," said the thick-set man, slapping one of his bandy legs with a whip which he carried. "I could stock a warehouse with brown or white, in an hour. But of your rum, now; what's that?"