"If his life had not been ordered differently," said Christopher, with regret, "he would have been an excellent apothecary." Then, suddenly: "Why, what am I thinking of? Dr. King, this is a nephew of a very close friend of yours--Mr. Anthony Stevens." The physician looked at the young man in surprise; then he held out his hand. "I am glad to see you," said he. "I also knew your father quite well--and your mother. Have you been long in the city?" "Since yesterday, only," replied Anthony. "Have you seen your uncle?" "No. I _did_ visit his counting-house, but he was not there." There was a moment's pause, and Dr. King seemed about to go. "As you are freshly arrived," said he; "you may have nothing to occupy your time this evening." "There is nothing," said Anthony. "Perhaps," said Dr. King, "you'd care to take supper with me--at six?" "I should be pleased," said the young man. "There will be a few people whom you may enjoy meeting. And it may be I'll be able to be of service to you." The speaker nodded to the old apothecary, and shook Anthony's hand again. "Remember, at six. My house is in Front Street just a little way above the booking-place of the Trenton stage." When the doctor had gone, Christopher Dent said: "A great friend of your uncle's--a most intimate friend. In fact, I would dare say that, as physician and associate, he knows more of his doings and dealings than any one else." At once, in that recess at the back of the mind where Anthony's discarded thoughts were kept, the imaginings of Magruder began to squirm and play for light. "Does he, indeed?" said Anthony. Of course, Dr. King's saying that he might be of service to him was a well-intentioned politeness; but there were times--and Anthony had seen more than one of them--when a politeness had been turned to a very practical account. IV That afternoon Anthony had his chest and other baggage transferred to the Half Moon, which was in Chestnut Street, opposite the state-house. Toward evening he began to dress for his visit to Dr. King; through the window of his room, and, again, through the high-shouldered arches at each side of the old building across the way, he caught specks of green among the flags; stout, gray Quakers paced slowly by, on their ways from their places of business at the waterside to the green open spaces, in the neighborhood of Eighth Street.