Historical fiction; Love stories; Philadelphia (Pa.) -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction; Sea stories
"Hah!" said Anthony, "it was half in my mind that you'd be here, my
friend." The hostler, whom he had ordered to make ready his sleigh,
stood in the barn-door, the harness in his hands, his mouth open.
"Don't waste my time, good friend," Anthony called to him. "Get the
horses to the sleigh; for after I've finished here I'll want to take to
the road in the wake of the person who just left."
The Frenchman was proceeding in a methodical, workman-like manner; his
thick arms were contracting steadily about Anthony's body; under their
pressure the young man felt his ribs bending, his vitals crushed, and
his breath grow short. And all the time the Frenchman growled like a
surly dog.
"We shall see in a moment," he wheezed. "We shall see how you'll talk
when I've done with you, my high-stepper!"
But Anthony had a plan in his mind, and his thoughts were now on it
alone. He threw his weight forward, and the Frenchman gave back; the
tavern yard was thick with snow, frozen over in a rough crust; at one
place where much water had been thrown there was a smooth ice, and it
was upon this that the young man forced the wrestler. To put forward
the effort needed in his bone-crushing the man needed good footing;
and here he had none. Once upon the glassy spot he began to slip, and
his grip grew slack. Anthony's right knee instantly came up, short,
sharp, vicious; once, twice, thrice it struck the Frenchman in the
stomach, and he went a deathly green. Anthony tore himself from the
weakened grip, and lashed out with his fist; it struck the wrestler on
the side of the head, and he fell and lay without motion.
"My sleigh in two minutes," said Anthony as he glanced toward the barn;
then he stepped to where the onlookers were grouped, and his lowering
eyes marked each one. They were mostly young, or in the prime of life,
sailormen, or having the look of mercantile pursuits, hardy of body,
keen of eye, and of ready manner.
"My life," said Anthony, "has been put in danger in this place, and
until I have good and sufficient proof to the contrary I shall believe
that each man of you had a knowledge of it." He lifted his gaze to the
windows, some of which had been thrown up despite the bitter weather.
"I don't know why this is," said he to them, "but," and with his chin
out he defied them, "it would give me a great deal of pleasure to go
into the matter with you."
"It's an honest inn," said the big young man, as he smiled
good-humoredly at Anthony. "And filled with honest people. Your
romantic disposition and instinct for situations, if you'll let me say
so, sir, are leading you astray."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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