Jack laughed at the attitude the stout man had struck. "I know how to shoot with a bow, even if I can't fence," he retorted. "Shoot with a bow--faugh, that's Indian warfare. Sword and musket's what we want, Master--I don't know your name." "Jack Felton," said Gregory. "And he's the son of one of those very prosperous Quakers you were speaking of, Mr. Hackett." "So?" said Hackett. "Well, I trust, Master Felton, that you see the common sense of my argument, and will persuade your father that it's not unlikely this French buccaneer De Castris may take it into his head to visit Philadelphia some day." He put on his hat and picked up his cloak. "I'm on my way to visit my old friend Governor John Evans, and tell him of the reports I bring from Chesapeake Bay." Jack stood up to let Mr. Hackett pass him, and then stepped into the shop. "Is what he says about Philadelphia and the Quakers true?" he asked the shoemaker. "I hardly know, Jack. The Friends don't believe in fighting, and maybe we're not as well prepared for defense as most of our neighbors. We've kept peace with the Indians by treating them fairly. Charles Hackett comes from Maryland, where they've had lots of trouble with Indians and every man goes armed." "Suppose that French captain came up the Delaware and did what Mr. Hackett thought he might?" suggested Jack. Gregory shook his head. "I don't know what we'd do. I take it I'm like most of the others; I don't like to borrow trouble, Jack." Jack got the leather for his sling and started home. The stranger's words stuck in his mind, however. He didn't like to think an enemy might come up the Delaware and do as he pleased with Philadelphia. It seemed to him that Mr. Hackett might be right, that the people ought to be prepared to defend themselves. Mr. Felton lived in a big house at the corner of Second and Pine Streets. He was a well-to-do Quaker and a friend of John Evans, the Deputy Governor who represented William Penn in the province. After supper Jack told his father what he had heard at the shoemaker's. "That's idle talk," said his father. "The Frenchman wouldn't think of coming to Philadelphia, and if he did we've plenty of men here to protect the town." "But how do you know they'd do it?" Jack asked. "Friends don't believe in fighting, the stranger said." "We don't unless we have to," agreed Mr. Felton. "Don't you bother about such things, Jack. Leave it to Governor Evans." Mr. Felton, however, thinking the matter over, decided that perhaps the governor ought to know that people were talking about a possible attack by the French privateers, and so he wrote a note and sent it over by Jack that evening to the governor's house. Jack thought he would like to speak to the governor himself, so he gave the servant his name, but not his father's note. The servant reported that Governor Evans would be glad to see Master Felton in his private office.