In Water Street, across the tops of the counting-houses, he could see the great masts of an Indiaman at Clifford's Wharf; two-wheeled drays, burdened with bundles and bales and barrels, trundled through the alleys; Anthony could hear the blocks creaking on a Liverpool packet, which shoved its sharp nose between two buildings. From the deck of a sloop-of-war taking in stores, a fife shrilled: "Come Away to Billy Cooper's." Anthony spoke to a man engaged in heading up some kegs of salt fish. "Where shall I find the place of business of a merchant named Magruder?" asked he. "He is engaged in the trade with New Orleans." The man pointed with his hammer. "He's at the head of Bickley's Wharf," said he. "Turn in here, then on past Crousillat's, and you are at his door." Anthony thanked the man, and picked along through an alley whose stones were slippery with mud; then, on the waterfront, he made his way through the drays, the sweating horses, the piles of merchandise, to a square building standing by itself; over the door swung a faded sign: "J. Magruder, Gulf Ports and West Indies." Anthony pushed open the door, and found himself in a great, low-ceilinged room heaped with casks of rum, packs of hides, barrels of tallow, cheese, and salted pork. There were also stores of hemp and corded bales of buffalo-robes, boxes of dried fruits, and hogsheads of tobacco. The place was dim with the bulk of stuff that crowded it, and here and there a whale-oil lamp lighted the way among the narrow aisles. A stout man came forward. "Yes, sir," said he, expectantly. He valued the young man for a moment, and then said with an air of confidence, "I'll venture, sir, it is in the matter of the _Bristol Pride_." Anthony smiled. "Well," said he, "that good vessel has done its part in my being here; there's no denying that." "It is a marvelous thing, sir," said the stout man, smilingly, "how news gets abroad. The _Pride_ only rounded the bend an hour ago; and yet a score of gentlemen have been here already. But," and he pointed through the glass of the door to where a small brig was anchored in the stream, "it's a common saying, though, that good news travels fast; and that ship carries in her hold three pipes of as fine brandy as ever bore the stamp of the king of Spain." "Well," said Anthony, good-humoredly, "I can well believe it. And not only the three pipes of brandy are under her hatches; there are also two puncheons of sherry that came by way of St. Kitts--a rare, brown wine, as I had occasion to notice on the levee at New Orleans, and with the sun in every drop of it." The stout man looked at him with a changed interest. "Am I to understand, sir, that you came as a passenger in the brig?" he inquired. "Yes," replied Anthony. "She became windbound at Newcastle yesterday; so I left her and came on by chaise." "Your name would be Stevens, then?" "Yes," said the young man. "Do I speak to Mr. Magruder?"