TELLS HOW THE BULLY CHANGED HIS MIND AND HOW GEORGE WAS SENT FOR IN
HASTE
This discovery, as may well be imagined, increased the interest
which George Prentiss felt in his surroundings; the aspect of his
ill-mannered, loud-mouthed table companion immediately underwent a
change. From a hired bully, the fellow was at once transformed into
something more subtle--a spy--a creature whose employment was as
underhand as his appearance was blunt. But what made the occasion more
surprising than anything else was that the spy was, apparently, in the
pay of Major Hyde--and the object of his surveillance was perhaps the
major’s uncle.
And so as the burly man listened to the conversation at Mr. Camp’s
table, George listened also, proceeding leisurely with his dinner, and
always keeping his eyes upon the face opposite him.
Mr. Camp still clung to the political situation as a subject for remark.
“Brother will be arrayed against brother,” said he, “and father against
son. The separations and heart burnings will be dreadful to think
about, for it is really civil war that these rogues seek to bring upon
us.”
“But,” said Mr. Dana, earnestly, “would it not be well to wait until
matters are further developed before prophesying evil?”
Mr. Camp grew irate at this. “Hah!” cried he. “Let me assure you,
sir, that it requires no prophet here. The things that I speak of
have already come to pass. My nephew Robert Hyde has gone over to the
enemies of the king, as you know. And I ask you to look at Harry here.
What uniform does he wear? They have poisoned him also with their
doctrines; nothing will do him but that the king’s officers be taken by
the scruff of the neck and bundled on board ship, never to return.”
“A gentleman must always follow the dictates of his conscience,”
returned Harry. “Yours leads you to support the king--mine impels me in
other directions.”
“Impel is a very good word,” commented Merchant Camp, addressing Dana.
“I could not pick one that described it better if I tried. But,” and he
turned to Herbert, “look you, young man. You are not the only one that
feels the impulse of change. It has occurred to me many times of late
that my will also needs a bit of altering.”
For a brief moment George, who had turned his head, saw Herbert Camp’s
face go blank.
“Why, as to--as to a mere matter of money,” stammered Herbert,
obviously endeavoring to make his voice ring angrily, “that can have no
effect upon a person of honor.”
“Not a trifle like sixty thousand pounds, mark you,” said the old Tory
to Dana. “They hold themselves high, these patriots.” And once more
addressing himself to Herbert, he continued: “Do you recall that some
days ago I asked you to change the color of your coat?”
“I do,” replied the young lieutenant.
“It was a week, I think, that I gave you.”
“It was.”
“Very good. There are a couple of days yet to go. So consider the
matter well. Change your coat, or I change my will.”
George felt the table shake; the big man had twitched spasmodically,
and his knees had knocked against its legs. Young Prentiss flashed him
a searching look; but in no other way did the bully manifest interest.
“Your money is your own to do what you please with,” said Herbert Camp
to his uncle, but for all his effort, there was a certain waver in his
voice and tones. “And you would not have me sink my principle to get
it, I know.”
“To be sure not, nephew,” said the old gentleman. “But be assured of
this: My money will never go to any one who upholds the rebel cause. I
would not buy your allegiance, nor that of any other person; but the
facts are as I have stated them.”
The nephew drummed upon the edge of the table with his finger-tips.
Things were at this stage when a waiter approached, bearing the burly
man’s dinner; this he placed before him with care, then shook him
gently.
“Your dinner, sir,” suggested the waiter, not without some caution.
The burly man opened his little eyes.
“Ay, ay,” said he, “I see it. And I’ll warrant it has no more seasoning
than a brindle cow’s milk.”
But the waiter hastened to reassure him upon this point; and so the man
began to eat with an appetite but with much muttering and complaining.
The conversation continued at the Camp table, the youth Herbert rather
weakly maintaining his position, and his uncle proclaiming his fixity
of purpose. But the spy took no more notice of them or their sayings.
Strangely enough, as George Prentiss thought, he had lost all interest
in them.
Indeed, even when they had finished their meal and their discussion and
arisen to their feet, he did not lift his head. But old Camp’s nephew,
apparently in an ill-humor, did not forget him. The youth in turning
stumbled across one of the man’s legs, which were needlessly sprawled
out.
“Perhaps,” said the young man, tartly, after recovering himself, “this
is the recognition which you just now promised me--trying to dash out
my brains among the inn furniture.”
The man looked up at him insolently.
“Did I promise you anything?” asked he.
“You did, sir,” replied the lieutenant, paying no heed to Mr. Dana’s
plucking at his sleeve.
“Ah, well,” said the man, “sometimes little things happen which prevent
our keeping promises hurriedly made.” There was something like a laugh
in his voice as he added, “Perhaps some such little thing has happened
since I spoke to you last, sir.”
The young militiaman grew very indignant at this and seemed about to
make a heated rejoinder; however, the two merchants pushed him on ahead
of them.
They had paid the reckoning and left the inn; and George was examining
his own score, when the burly man suddenly lifted a hand and called out:
“Ah, this way, sir, this way!”
Major Hyde, his dark face full of eagerness, approached; and at his
heels was the foppish dragoon, Henderson.
“I just now saw them leave,” said the major. “Did you find an
opportunity, Slade?”
The burly man shrugged his lumpy shoulders carelessly.
“Oh, yes,” answered he. “It wasn’t difficult. But I let it pass.”
“What’s that?” and there was a note of menace in Hyde’s voice.
“Do you call that living up to a contract?” asked Henderson. “Seems
like downright neglect to me.”
“There was no occasion to follow out your plan,” said Slade. “I have
lived by quarrels these many years,” with a laugh, “but for all that, I
don’t believe in them much unless they are necessary. I had your young
blade fast enough and could have had it out with him very nicely. But
as it turned out----”
Here Major Hyde noted George for the first time and instantly his
gesture stopped Slade’s mouth. Affecting a careless laugh, although all
the time there was an evil look upon his face, he said:
“Ah, well, it makes no great difference, either way. It was but a
stupid sort of jest to say the best of it. At another time, we’ll
have our laugh out to the full. But come, let us be going. I have some
business to see to.”
“I have but begun my dinner,” said Slade in protest.
“Dinners,” spoke the major, “can be had at any time; but these affairs
of mine must not be kept waiting.”
With much complaint Slade left the table, casting longing looks at the
smoking dishes thereon. They had reached the door of the public room
as George arose and began readjusting his shoulder belt, of which he
had freed himself when he sat down. He saw Hyde lean toward Slade and
say something in a low tone; then he noted the latter’s quick, furtive,
over-the-shoulder look in his direction; after this they passed out,
and he could see them through the window, walking arm in arm down
Broadway, their heads very close together.
When George in his turn left the “King’s Arms” he was busily revolving
what he had seen and heard.
“It has an odd look,” mused he. “And I don’t just get the meaning of it
all. There can be no doubt that Major Hyde sent this man into the inn
for a purpose. But what was this purpose? Hyde’s words might lead one
to believe that it was the carrying out of some sort of idle jest. But
I doubt that. He gave that turn to the matter only when he recognized
me, and felt that I had overheard what he had said.”
Slowly he walked along Broadway past Wall Street and the English
Church, still going over the situation.
“The first words that Hyde said to Slade upon entering were: ‘Did you
find your opportunity?’ And Slade answered that he had, but had let it
pass. Then he said he’d found there was no occasion to follow Hyde’s
plans, and that he had heard something----Now the only thing which he
heard that seemed to greatly interest him was that----”
Here the young man’s muttering stopped; his thoughts took a wild leap;
for a moment or two they were a jumble of extravagances; then order
began to reappear.
“Mr. Camp, it seems, is enormously rich,” was the new train of
thought. “Major Hyde is his nephew, as is also this young man called
Herbert. And Herbert, apparently, was to be the heir; a thing which
was distasteful to Major Hyde. So the major sent this bully who sat at
table with me to pick a quarrel with the lucky nephew. A duel would
perhaps have been the result; and the course of the old man’s money
shifted.
“But the bully proved a man of cunning as well as ferocity. When
he heard that Herbert would likely be disinherited because of his
political leanings, he saw that the fight would be unnecessary.”
Here, however, the chain of reasoning showed a missing link.
“If Herbert is to be disinherited for holding to the cause of the
colonies,” George asked himself “how can Major Hyde, who also advocates
that cause, hope to replace him?”
This seemed to unsettle the foundation of all that had gone before, and
he shook his head more puzzled than ever. But in a moment or two he put
the entire matter aside.
“I don’t know why I am bothering about the interests of strangers,”
said he, impatiently. He had about dismissed the matter from his mind
and was looking curiously at some of the quaint old Dutch houses still
standing when there came a beat of hoofs upon the stones of the road;
and the horseman drew up beside him.
“Ah, well caught, Mr. Prentiss,” laughed the horseman, jovially. “I
asked for you at the ‘King’s Arms,’ and they told me that you had just
gone. So I took the liberty of guessing which direction you had taken.”
It was the ensign with whom George had previously spoken; he rode a
strong-looking gray horse which chafed at the bit and pawed nervously
at the ground. The ensign had struck young Prentiss from the first
as being a likable sort of fellow, and so he greeted him in friendly
fashion.
“You had not been gone from headquarters above an hour when General
Putnam asked for you,” said the rider. “Major Hyde had left some time
before, and none would have known where you were to be found had I not
happened to be still lounging about. And so,” with a laugh, “here I am
to take you back with me in all haste.”