The Sun of Quebec | Page 7

had a good look at Albany yet. I want to see if it's as fine a place as Williamsburg."
"It's larger," said Robert.
"But size is not everything. That's where you northern people make your mistake."
"But you'll admit that Philadelphia's a fine city, won't you?" said Colden, "and you know it's the largest in the colonies."
"But it's comparatively near to Virginia," said Cabell briskly, "and our influence works wonders."
"We've our own conceit in Philadelphia," said Wilton, "but conceit and Virginia are just the same words, though they may have a different sound."
"Come on to the George Inn," said Grosvenor, "and you can argue it out there. Old England likes to see this healthy rivalry among her children. She doesn't mind your being bumptious."
"We're bumptious, because we're like our parent," said Cabell. "It's a matter of inheritance."
"Let the George Inn settle it. Come on, lads."
Grosvenor was feeling better and better. He was adaptable and this was a sprightly group, full of kindred spirits. The Virginians were as English as he was, and the others nearly as much so. He had acquitted himself well in the New World, in fields with which he was unfamiliar, and these lads were friends. Danger and hardships faded quite away into a forgotten past. He was strong and well once more.
"You shall all be my guests at the George Inn!" he exclaimed. "We shall have refreshment and talk, plenty of both."
"As we Virginians are the oldest people in the colonies, it's the right of Stuart and myself to be the hosts," said Cabell.
"Aye, so 'tis," said Stuart.
"As we're from Philadelphia, the greatest and finest city in the country, it's the right of Wilton, Carson and myself," said Colden.
But Grosvenor was firm. He had given the invitation first, he said, and nobody could take the privilege from him. So the others yielded gracefully, and in high good humor the eight, saying much and humming little songs, walked across the fields from the camp and into the town. Robert noticed the bustling life of Albany with approval. The forest made its appeal to him, and the city made another and different but quite as strong appeal. The old Fort Orange of the Dutch was crowded now, not only with troops but with all the forms of industry that follow in the train of an army. The thrifty Dutch, despite their apprehension over the coming of the French, were busy buying, selling, and between battles much money was made.
The George Inn, a low building but long and substantial was down by the river. The great doors stood wide open and much life flowed in and out, showing that it too profited by war. The eight found seats at a table on a sanded floor, and contented themselves with lemonade, which they drank slowly, while they talked and looked.
It was a motley and strange throng; American, English, Dutch, German, Indian, Swedish. A half dozen languages were heard in the great room, forerunner of the many elements that were to enter in the composition of the American nation. And the crowd was already cosmopolitan. Difference of race attracted no attention. Men took no notice of Tayoga because he was an Indian, unless to admire his tall, straight figure and proud carriage. Albany had known the Iroquois a century and a half.
Robert's spirits, like Grovenor's, mounted. Here he was with many friends of his own age and kindred mind. Everything took on the color of rose. All of them were talking, but his own gift of speech was the finest. He clothed narrative with metaphor and illustration until it became so vivid that the others were glad to fall silent and listen to him, though Robert himself was unconscious of the fact. They made him relate once more his story of the battle as he saw it from inside the French lines at Ticonderoga, and, just as he came to the end of the tale, he caught a glimpse of a tall man entering the tavern.
"Tell us what you saw from the other side," he said to Grosvenor, and they compelled the reluctant Englishman to talk. Then Robert turned his eyes toward the tall man who was now sitting at a small table in the corner and drinking from a long glass. Something familiar in his walk had caught his attention as he came in, and, under cover of Grosvenor's talk, he wished to observe him again without being noticed even by his own comrades.
The stranger was sitting with the side of his face to Robert, and his features were not well disclosed. His dress was that of a seafaring man, rough but rather good in texture, and a belt held a long dirk in a scabbard which was usual at that time. The hand that raised the long glass to his lips was