"All the firm's transactions have been had with your father," said he. "When you return to your counting-house, have the goodness to mention that I'd like a word with him, in confidence." The twins grinned, first at Weir and then at each other. Then Rehoboam said: "These are times, Captain Weir, when we can speak with little assurance of any one. Those who are here to-day are gone to-morrow. And those who--" Weir frowned at him. "Speak plainly," he said. "The pestilence spares none," said Rehoboam. "When once it marks them out, it does its work quickly. Our father is dead." "Dead," said Nathaniel, "and his property--" then, hastily, "what little he left--has come to us." "Also," said Rehoboam, "his business, and his bills. Rufus Stevens' Sons, Captain, now deals with his heirs and assignees. And in three days, as I've said, the first bill comes due. Of course there will be no delay here," he grinned. "We have expected none." "Of course," said Nathaniel, his jaws agape, mirthfully. "To be sure." "We are at Harmony Court until six each day," said Rehoboam. "And we shall await a communication. In the meantime," and he got up, "good day to you. And be careful of your health," as he and his brother were about to go. "Do not venture where there is no necessity." "Upon no account do so," said Nathaniel earnestly. "One never knows what may come of a rashness. Spend nothing needlessly, neither health nor money. That is the course of wisdom, sir." Captain Weir walked the floor when they had gone; his eyes shone as hard as agates and his mouth set wickedly. The old man dead! Well, that was an unexpected turn. And now here were these two harpies with bills in their hands, about the doors, promising ruin to the fairest of prospects for profit. "I'll take them by the throats first," said the captain. "I'll squeeze the breath from them." He took up his hat and went out; there was a coach-house in Mulberry Street, and to this he made his way straight, and was greeted by a mournful-looking man, in boots with yellow tops. "Duff," said Captain Weir, "I want a man to carry a message to the Brig Tavern, below Chester." The mournful man shook his head. "Riders are scarce. They can't be had for love nor money; even the mails are left uncarried. The sentries are very watchful on the roads; and more than one person has been fired upon trying to win by." Captain Weir chinked some gold coins in his pocket; and a sandy, foxy youth, stretched out upon a feed-box, lifted his head. "I never saw anything that wouldn't be ventured if the pay was heavy enough," said the captain. "Here you, sir, what's your price?" The sandy youth grinned wisely, and puckered his narrow forehead. "What'll you say to twenty gold dollars?" said he. "I'll say it's a deal of money," said Captain Weir. "But, nevertheless, I'll pay it. Can you start at once?" "In a half-hour," promised the sandy one, now briskly on his feet.