Anthony found a fine flavor in the old books of Rufus Stevens' Sons, a rich color, and an admirable reticence. Everything was set down with clerkly care, but for all that there was no humdrum routine, no dull insistence on profit and loss, no sordid grasping or squeezing of little things. The columns of figures, as Anthony studied them, did not mean so much the dollars paid out or taken in; they did not seem to deal with hard money, or price, with bargain or sale; when a line was struck under one of them, the result had none of the smell of the counting-room; rather it told of singular adventuring, of hazards, of stratagems in the midst of danger, of bleak days and plunging nights at sea. He saw wide stretches of water: he saw a red sun and strange stars, and high-hulled ships with odd rigs and worked by dark-skinned men. He saw ports which grew masts as a forest grows trees; he saw boundless riches, precious stuffs, and ant-like populations; and he felt the spiritual depression that emanates from vast huddles of submissive people. The names of the houses dealt with gave a tropic savor to many an entry; through a list of merchandise Anthony could fancy a caravan plodding; the glare of the sands made his eyes ache; he felt the hot wind on his face. Batavia! Calcutta! Canton! Silent bells seemed to ring the names in his mind. Batavia! Dutch Javanese, a place of stinks, of green canals, of hordes of slaves, of stolid Chinamen, a place of pepper, of rattan, of sandalwood; of indigo, arrack and cloves. And its coffee! Its strong, brown, whip-like coffee that made the nerves jump, and started a fever in the blood. And Calcutta! held in one of the holy hands of the Ganges, standing away, many a laborious mile from the sea which made it; Calcutta, bright, opulent, hot, city of the Parsee merchant, of the Hindu, the Greek, the Armenian; place of silks, of wonderful shawls, of rice, ginger, and hides; of oils, ointments, and opium; city of crowding ships, of tangled flags, of many tongues; gateway of riches; sluice carrying off the toil of a patient people; filter through which went all that was good, and which gave back dregs alone. Then Canton! with its staggering, shell-walled junks, its narrow streets, its sharp smells, its teeming, sweating, cheapened population, its grotesque vice. Grass cloth, damask, nankeen. Table ware! oh, excellent stuff! smooth, durable, shapely, with all the craft of attentive minds in its fabrication. And tea! The fortunes and the fragrance that were boxed up in those little chests! The swift ships that were sent for them: wide-winged ships that took them in, expectantly, departed hastily, and arrived breathlessly. And then such a gathering of merchants, such an uplifting of voices, such a scurrying and planning, such a laying out of money, such profiting and such satisfaction! Boxes of magic! Little chests of sorcery! marked with incantations and odorous of flowers.