But this was a question which Mr. Sparhawk seemed in no haste to answer. And he said so; Anthony was a young man, and young men, he held, should work out their own opinions and lay the foundations for their own beliefs. But, for all that, and he tapped the scrolled lid of the snuff-box as he said this, he was not averse to what might be called a general suggestion. The adviser of Citizen Genêt was almost sure to be one who had known the republican minister in Europe--and one who was possibly concerned in shipping. Mr. Sparhawk nodded his head, quite convinced of this. But who the man was he could not say, and the head here was shaken with equal conviction. Of course, every one was entitled to privately hazard an opinion. No one could find fault with that. And he would not deny that he had hazarded his own. But he could say no more than this; if such a person, or persons, were to be found; if he, or they, could be induced to talk, a deal would be learned, much public villainy might be prevented, and the routing out of a burrow of rats that had given grievous private trouble might be begun. Anthony nodded his bandaged head but said nothing. Mr. Sparhawk talked with care, blunting the point of each remark after it had entered, and leaving no salient thing upon which one might hang a definite meaning. When they had finished their wine, Anthony arose and bade him good day; and when on the street he turned in the direction of Rufus Stevens' Sons. XXVII At the counting-room Charles greeted Anthony with a tight hand-clasp and said warmly: "The villains! The infernal rogues! To strike you down and drag you aboard their dirty craft! We shall see to them before they have gone much further." In his own room, he sat in the corner of his sofa, nursing his lame foot, and urged Anthony to tell of his escape. As the young man carried the story forward, Charles's face, which had been white and worn, flushed, and his eyes shone with their old brightness; at the episode of the arms-room and that of Anthony's struggle with the captain and the two lieutenants, he flamed up, rocking to and fro on the sofa and chuckling rapturously. But when the picture on deck was thrown before him he got up and began to prowl the floor, his head back and his laughter filling the room; at the girl's being taken out of the schooner, his eyes were filled with tears, his arms were about Anthony's shoulders, he shook with mirth. "By God!" he pronounced, "it was wonderful! I would have given anything to have seen it. Congreve, nor Webster, nor Kitt Marlowe himself, haven't a bit of comedy to equal it. It was perfect." During the afternoon Anthony was much noticed in the counting-room because of his bandaged head and the rather wavering account of his experiences which was going about; and at dusk Whitaker bore him away to a tavern for supper.