“My name is Pierre La Fitte; I am a merchant of Philadelphia on my way to Fishkill Landing.”
“Humph, you got a pretty skittish ride before you, Mr. La Fitte, and I b’leeve the longest road is the shortest for you. You just keep right on to Princeton and then to Morristown Heights and when you git five miles beyond Morristown you ask for my son-in-law, Benjamin Andrews, and he will take good care of you and all you need to tell him is that you met old Samuel Whitesides and it won’t cost you a farthing for your keep.”
However, as this conversation was proceeding, old Jonathan kept his eye closely on the stranger as he sat with his chin on both hands which were resting on his cane before him.
[Illustration: “Have we the pleasure of the gentleman’s name and occupation?” quizzed the old man.]
Barclugh noticed that he was being scrutinized very sharply and he did not relish his position, but he looked out at his horse and turned to go with a parting bow to the two old men, while he thanked his informant twice.
No sooner had the stranger mounted than the old men arose to watch him disappear up the road.
“Sam’l,” said Hopper, “what d’ye think of that ’ere stranger? I b’leeve he has no good around these parts. He had an uneasy and restless look in his eye. He’s got some deep-laid business on his mind and I don’t think that was his name that he told us. Mabbee he’s one of those consarned British spies that we hear so much about these times.”
“Yes, yes, you got to git yourself all worked up naow, Jonathan, and all on account of that gentleman addressing me to the hexclusion of yourself. If you thought that he was a spy why didn’t you step up to him and demand his passports? Now that he is gone you can concoct all kinds of dreams about him; that’s cowardly, Jonathan, that’s cowardly.”
“Sam’l,” came the hot reply, “you and I have been boys and men together, but when you impeach the bravery of an old soldier,--one who has been at Crown Point and Ticonderogy, too! Why, sir, that is beyond endurance, and before I shall be seen coming down this road again with you, may bunions like onions grow out of my toes. I shall leave you, sir, I shall leave you,” sputtered old Jonathan as he hobbled to his feet, livid and glaring at Samuel with rage.