“An odd character,” he said suggestively, “this kinsman of yours. Might I say without any offense, that he has a certain amount of assurance.” “Call it self-reliance better,” responded David, “it was always so with him as a boy. But mark you this, sir, behind it all he has the courage that is daunted at nothing, and ask any seaman with whom he has sailed if he knows of a better or more resourceful man in emergencies.” “He comes of good stock,” rejoined Mr. Nesbit, “eh, David?” The younger man caught the elder’s twinkling eye and bowed. “We’ve all been kings in Ireland,” he returned, “and to quote Gustavus, ‘surely one king is as good as another.’ But the news that you had for me has not been told. What is it?” “A secret of state, my friend, and one that must be kept as quiet as the grave.” He leaned toward Conyngham as he spoke. “Our good Dr. Franklin is going to France to represent the cause of the colonies at the court of the French king, and by the time he does so,” he added, “we shall no longer be in the category of ‘rebels,’ for there are great doings afoot.” “I know, I understand,” answered the younger man, his face lighting. “God prosper the new nation!” “God prosper the new nation,” repeated Mr. Nesbit, “and confusion to the enemies of liberty!” The storm had abated suddenly, and in a few minutes a ray of warm spring sunlight pierced the cloud. Mr. Nesbit and the junior partner rose, and arm in arm went out into the street. The glances of the tory and Flackman the lawyer followed their exit, and as they disappeared the two men fell to whispering earnestly. CHAPTER II THE VOYAGE OF THE CHARMING PEGGY It was lucky that the water was smooth and that the Charming Peggy was on her best tack, otherwise the frigate that was now dropping fast astern would have overhauled her ere she had been well clear of the capes. The gun that the Englishman had fired had had a ring of disappointment in it, an admonition more of warning than of threat. Captain Conyngham, looking back over the low taffrail, waved his hand as he saw her haul her wind. “Good-by to you, my petty tyrant,” he cried half aloud. “I hope I’ve seen the last of the likes of you.” The crew, whose expressions had changed during the short chase from anxiety to hope, and from hope to satisfaction, looked up at the little quarter-deck where the captain was pacing to and fro with firm, springing steps. They were a motley lot, this crew, mostly American sailormen from Baltimore, a half-Spaniard from the West Indies, and two strong fellows who had about them the unmistakable marks of man-of-war’s-men. In all there were but fifteen, including the cook, a big, curly-haired Virginia negro with a rolling eye and a soft, high-pitched voice.