RICHARD. The Old South Church could not hold half the patriots who wish to talk and listen. Such speeches! Oh, they'd stir your blood if you could hear them! RIGBY (eyes a-gleam). 'Tis stirred enough already! Go on, lad, quickly! RICHARD. Josiah Quincy is presiding at the New Old South. 'Twas he who thought of sending word to the governor. And now the governor has refused, and if there's nothing done we're _beaten_--beaten, Tom Rigby, we who so love freedom! RIGBY. Tut! Tut! Lad! The night's not done yet. Are they still at the meeting? RICHARD. Aye, and are like to be for the next hour. 'Tis scarcely six--just candle-lighting time. RIGBY. You look white, lad. Have you eaten? RICHARD. Eaten! On such a day as this! RIGBY. Nonsense, lad. You must keep up your strength. (Crosses to serving- table where bowl stands.) Here! If you will not eat, at least you can drink a cup of steaming lemon punch. No _lads_ who come to my tavern get anything stronger--unless, mayhap, a cup of apple juice. Youth is its own best wine. Cider for you. Burgundy for your betters, eh, lad? (Gives Richard a cup and takes a cup himself.) Here's to taxless tea! (Drinks.) RICHARD (joining him in the toast). And the confounding of the British! And now, since there are no red- coats about, I may tell you that the Old South Church is not the only place that's to hold a meeting. There's going to be one here. RIGBY (surprised). Here? RICHARD. In less than half an hour the lads will meet me. We call ourselves "The Younger Sons of Freedom." RIGBY (somewhat severely). All that I have is at your service; yet 'tis only lately that lads have been allowed to rove past curfew time. RICHARD. Such days as these lads grow to men right quickly. Do you think we waste our time with games and--and snowball forts, Tom Rigby? No! The Younger Sons of Freedom have learned to fight and fence, to run and swim, and to swarm up a ship's ladder if need be. How could any lad be idle these last nineteen days, with fathers and brothers patrolling the wharves day and night to keep the tea from landing; when patriot sentinels are stationed in every belfry; and when all Beacon Hill is topped with tar-barrels ready to blaze out into signals at a moment's notice. I tell you--my very dreams are of defiance! But my deeds--what can a lad do when he goes through life halting? A maimed foot makes a maimed ambition, unless--unless as I would fain believe, the spirit is stronger than the body. It is the _will_ that counts. RIGBY. You're wiser than most lads, Richard. You've a head on your shoulders. I've known you long; but you have never spoken--until to-night. It was your will that took you through your puny childhood, fatherless, motherless, and made your stern old uncle proud of you. Why now be down-hearted? I've heard you spoken of as a lad of spirit by Dr. Warren, aye, and by Paul Revere.