“And I will do it. How can I refuse? I should lose all their India trade.” “There will soon be no trade to lose. You are, as I know, drawing in your capital. Go abroad. Wind up your affairs in England; do the same in Holland. Use all your ships this summer. Go to Madeira from London. Buy freely, and pay at once so as to save interest; it will rise fast. Come home in the fall of ‘74 late. Hold the goods, and, above all, see that in your absence no consignments be taken. Am I clear, John?” I heard her with such amazement as was shared by my father. The boldness and sagacity of the scheme impressed a man trained to skill in commerce, and ever given to courageous ventures. “You must sail in October or before; you will need a year. No less will do.” “Yes--yes.” I saw from his look that he was captured. He walked to and fro, while my Aunt Gainor switched the dust off her petticoat or looked out of the window. At last she turned to me. “What think you of it, Hugh?” “Mr. Wilson says we shall have war, aunt, and Mr. Attorney-General Chew is of the same opinion. I heard them talking of it last night at thy house. I think the king’s officers want a war.” I took refuge, shrewdly, in the notions of my elders. I had no wiser thing to say. “I myself do not know,” I added. “How shouldst thou?” said my father, sharply, I was silent. “And what think you, John?” “What will my wife say, Gainor? We have never been a month apart.” “Let me talk to her.” “Wilt thou share in the venture?” He was testing the sincerity of her advice. “And to what extent?” “Five thousand pounds. You may draw on me from London, and buy powder and muskets,” she added, with a smile. “Not I. Why dost thou talk such folly?” “Then Holland blankets and good cloth. I will take them off your hands at a fair profit.” “I see no objection to that.” My aunt gave me a queer look, saying, “The poor will need them. I shall sell them cheap.” It was singular that I caught her meaning, while my father, reflecting on the venture as a whole, did not. “I will do it,” he said. “Then a word more. Be careful here as to debts. Why not wind up your business, and retire with the profit you will make?” It was the same advice my mother had given, as I well knew. “Hast thou been talking to my wife?” he said. “No,” she replied, surprised; “may I?” “Yes. As to going out of business, Gainor, I should be but a lost man. I am not as well-to-do as thou dost seem to think.” “Stuff and nonsense!” cried my aunt. “I believe Thomas Willing is no better off in what you call this world’s gear, nor Franks, nor any of them. You like the game, and, after all, what is it but a kind of gambling? How do you know what hands the ocean holds? Your ventures are no better than my guineas cast down on the loo-table.” These two could never discuss anything but what it must end in a difference.