As he neared the Bowling Green, he observed that there was no one of the many residents about taking advantage of the pleasant sunlight to enjoy an hour at that favorite pastime, and so continued his way to the Astor docks adjoining the Whitehall slip, where never yet had the commercial New Yorker, interested in the matter of shipping, failed to find a crowd. Messrs. John Jacob Astor and William Van Rensalaer were already upon the ground, as he could see at a distance, the distinct high hat of the one and the portly figure of the other standing out in clear relief against the green waters of the bay. Elder Johannis Coop was there, he of the vast ship chandlery business, and Opdyke Stewart, importer of the finest stuffs woven in Holland. Old Jacob Cruger and Mortimer Morris, the lean Van Tassel and Julius van Brunt, merchants all and famous men of the city, chatted, smiled, and laughed together as they discussed the probabilities of trade and the arrival of the _Silver Spray_ and the _Laughing Mary_, both in the service between New York and Liverpool. Almost every worthy present was armed with his spy-glass, as the three-foot telescopes were then called, and now and then one would take a look down the bay and through the distant narrows to see if any sign of a familiar sail were present. “And how is Master Walton?” asked the elder Astor, recognizing the scion of the one exceedingly wealthy family of the community. “Very well, thank you,” returned the other, surveying the company, whose knee breeches and black coats presented a striking contrast to his modern trousers and fancy jacket. “These modern fashions,” exclaimed Cruger, the elder, coming forward, “make us old fellows seem entirely out of date. They are a wretched contrivance to hide the legs. If I were a young woman I would have no man whose form I could not judge by his clothes.” “And if I were a young man,” put in the jovial John Jacob, “I would put on no clothes which a young woman did not approve of.” “Ah, well,” said the other, smiling, “these fashions are strange contrivances. Not ten years since a man would have been drummed out of New York had he appeared in such finery as this, and now, by heaven, it is we old fellows who are like to be shown the door for dressing as our fathers taught us.” “Not so bad as that, surely,” said Walton. “Full dress commands the old style yet at evening. This is but daylight custom. But how about the Bowling Green; is no one to play there this morning?” “Not when two ships like the _Silver Spray_ and the _Laughing Mary_ are like to show their noses at any moment,” observed Cruger stoutly. “I have fifty barrels of good India ale on the _Silver Spray_. Astor, here, has most of the hold of the _Laughing Mary_ filled with his dress goods. No bowling when stocks must be unpacked quickly.”