I lost no time after getting to Annapolis in confiding to Mr. Swain the conversation I had had with my cousin Philip. And I noticed, as he sat listening to my account in the library in Gloucester Street, that the barrister looked very worn. He had never been a strong man, and the severe strain he had been under with the patriots' business was beginning to tell. He was very thoughtful when I had finished, and then told me briefly that I had done well not to take the offer. “Tucker would have made but short work of such evidence, my lad,” said he, “and I think Master Philip would have lied himself in and out a dozen times. I cannot think what witness he would have introduced save Mr. Allen. And there is scarcely a doubt that your uncle pays him for his silence, for I am told he is living in Frederick in a manner far above what he gets from the parish. However, Philip has given us something more to work on. It may be that he can put hands on the messenger.” I rose to go. “We shall bring them to earth yet, Richard, and I live,” he added. “And I have always meant to ask you whether you ever regretted your decision in taking Gordon's Pride.” “And you live, sir!” I exclaimed, not heeding the question. He smiled somewhat sadly. “Of one thing I am sure, my lad,” he continued, “which is that I have had no regrets about taking you. Mr. Bordley has just been here, and tells me you are the ablest young man in the province. You see that more eyes than mine are upon you. You have proved yourself a man, Richard, and there are very few macaronies would have done as you did. I am resolved to add another little mite to your salary.” The “little mite” was of such a substantial nature that I protested strongly against it. I thought of Tom's demands upon him. “I could afford to give you double for what you have made off the place,” he interrupted. “But I do not believe in young men having too much.” He sighed, and turned to his work. I hesitated. “You have spent time and labour upon my case, sir, and have asked no fee.” “I shall speak of the fee when I win it,” he said dryly, “and not before. How would you like to be clerk this winter to the Committee of Correspondence?” I suppose my pleasure was expressed in my face. “Well,” said he, “I have got you the appointment without much difficulty. There are many ways in which you can be useful to the party when not helping me with my affairs.” This conversation gave me food for reflection during a week. I was troubled about Mr. Swain, and what he had said as to not living kept running in my head as I wrote or figured. For I had enough to hold me busy.