Historical fiction; Love stories; Philadelphia (Pa.) -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction; Sea stories
The man sucked in his lips, and left off warming his hands; his one
good eye searched Anthony's face with startled sharpness.
"A good house," he said finally. "An excellent house. You are perhaps,"
and he said this with care, "that nephew to Charles of whom I have
heard."
"I am his only nephew," said Anthony.
"There are those who speak of Charles as erratic," observed the man
with the one eye. "But that is an error. He _is_ different from most of
his occupation, but difference signifies nothing to a man's discredit.
He is an unusual and desirable person. I congratulate you in him."
Anthony nodded. He wished the man would take himself off, for the
furtive manner and crafty eye did not please him.
"It is too bad your ship is in so unfortunate a situation in the
river," said the man. "Some one has told me that she carries cargo of
immediate value."
"Yes," said Anthony.
"But what can be done?" said the man. He awaited an answer; but none
came, and he proceeded. "Providence decrees these things, and so it is
scarcely proper for us to object."
Anthony was one who did not readily put the blame of things on
Providence, and he held his tongue with difficulty. However, he saw
the one-eyed man shrewdly awaiting an observation from him, and that
made silence easier. The stranger talked of ships, cargoes, weather,
and misadventures, but Anthony replied only briefly; then the landlord
came in, and laid the cloth for the young man's supper. Anthony sat
down, and the one-eyed man, with a parting smirk, left the room. The
supper was hot and plentiful and good; the host served him himself with
great attention. When he had finished, Anthony sat and smoked a Spanish
cigar by the fire, listening to the wind whining among the roofs of the
tavern and quite at his ease. Now and then the tall, graceful figure
in the candle-light would venture to the edge of his thoughts, but he
drove it back with resolution.
A clock from somewhere in the place struck nine; Anthony arose and went
to see to his horses. He found them well provided for, in warm stalls,
watered and fed, and bedded thickly in fresh straw.
"A good team," said the hostler, who held the lantern so that Anthony
might see that all was well. "Well set upon their feet, and with fine
barrels and strong legs. I like sorrels; they are not as common as
some, and they have plenty of courage."
"I suppose," said Anthony, "you have handled horses for a long time."
"Yes," said the man, "for many years, indeed. I've been employed at
a half-score inns in my time--inns that have stood on much-traveled
roads, and have taken in all who came their way."
"The Brig must be a quiet place after those," said Anthony.
The man smoothed his jaws with a nervous hand.
"I like a place to be quiet," said he. "There's few come by this track,
for it leads only to the marsh and the river. Yes, it's quiet here; and
I am away from all urging."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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