"Eat what you like," was the dandy's reply to Anthony's protests; "and drink nothing at all if your stomach is not in the way of it. But I must be seen in your company; the city is all agape at your adventures, and it will do me more good socially than the services of a dozen clever tailors." They ate at the Crooked Billet, and all about there was a murmuring and nodding and a glancing from the corners of eyes; _Le Mousquet_ was still hot on the city's tongue, and the man who had striven so with her company was a person to be seen and commented upon. "What you did I don't know," said Whitaker. "Some have it that you boarded the vessel of your own free will and tried to capture her single-handed; others insist you were kidnapped, and swam ashore with the blackguards popping at you with small arms from the deck. And I've heard--though Heaven knows how such a tale got abroad--that a woman figured in the matter, that she'd eloped with some jolly blade or other and you'd taken it on yourself to get her back, but whether for her people's sake or your own the gossip does not state." Anthony replied briefly to the chatter of his friend, and after a little Whitaker drifted to another subject. He split a pigeon in two and helped himself to the good hot bread as he said: "There's your uncle now. Of late I can't get him out of my mind." "And why not?" asked Anthony. "He's changed," said Whitaker. "He's aged and failing in health. There's not the same stingo to him that there once was. And he hesitates. For the first time in his life, I verily believe, he hesitates." "It's worriment that the new ship will not be launched in time," said Anthony. "There's no need to worry about her," said Whitaker, "because she'll go into the water on the day he has fixed. No, it's something else." Anthony was silent; Whitaker gave his attention to the food for a space, and then went on: "These Bulfinches and their like are the devil's crew. God help the man who's beholding to them; they'll sit about him until the commercial life is out of him, like vultures do, and then be on him and pick his bones." "Why do you speak of them?" asked Anthony. "On two occasions, one of those damned twin brothers--I don't know if it was Rehoboam or Nathaniel--visited your uncle; once I was sent to their den in Harmony Court, with a message. I have no wish to pry into any one's affairs," said Whitaker, "much less those of a man who employs and puts confidence in me; but my flesh crawls at thought of these people, and I wish I could get rid of the thought of them." "What message did you carry to Harmony Court?" asked Anthony.