With that he turned and went out; but in a few moments Anthony saw him peering in at one of the windows, and in his eyes were at once the hope and fear that, perhaps, marked his madness. It was well toward the middle of the afternoon when Anthony arrived at Rufus Stevens' Sons and was received by the affable clerk. "Yes, Mr. Stevens is in, sir," said this personage. "I will speak to him." He hastened through a doorway, and in a moment hastened out again. "You are to go right in, sir," said he. Anthony entered. The room that Charles Stevens had fitted up for himself was low-ceilinged like the others; its width and breadth were great; the floor was laid with rugs of marvelous colors and texture, and the walls were hung with rich draperies, pictures, and strange-looking arms. The furniture was all of far-off lands; there were things of ebony, and ivory, of silk and gold, and the breath of the place was vital with rich essences. Charles sat upon a divan and nursed his lame foot; he was a young-looking man; his color was fresh, and his hair as dark and thick and vital as it had been at twenty-five. He was talking with a settled-looking person who sat at a table with a quill and an ink-pot, scrawling figures upon a sheet of paper. "I would not lay out another groat," Charles was saying, "upon a ship of the build and stowage-room such as we now have. They are cramped, they are slow, they are tricky. What we want is vessels that will carry both cargo and canvas, and will stand up under a wind that blows above the ordinary." The settled man looked up from his figures. "What results I have reached--what results every ship-builder has reached--are reared upon tried and tested things. Little by little we learn how to improve a hull so that it gives less and less resistance to the water; and carrying-room, Mr. Stevens, is largely dependent upon the shape of this hull. A ship is a ship; it is not a hogshead with masts in it." Charles Stevens's laugh was singularly young. He got up and limped up and down the floor, both hands waving. "Siddons," said he, "I have the same struggle with you every time I ask anything that is not customary. It's in the records of the house that my father went through the same thing with your father. But keep this in your mind: it is the necessities of trade that improve ships; if their advance had been left to the builders, we'd still be hugging the coasts in galleys and afraid to venture out of sight of land. The Yankee ships are making ours look like Venetian caracks; they have moved ahead of us, Siddons; they are winging it into Calcutta carrying almost twice our merchandise, and doing it in less time." The settled man consulted his figures. "You talk of vessels of seven hundred tons burthen," he said, plaintively. "Who ever heard of such things?"