RICHARD (dreaming aloud).

First they'll go to the wharves...stealing quietly through the darkness. Then there'll be the m.u.f.fled dip of oars...and then----Oh, would that I could aid them in this hour! But I am impotent, impotent!

PENROSE (querulously, as he and Marsh enter).

This tavern's still deserted. Is there naught alive in this town save the half-dozen Indians we've met a-prowling the streets! Where's the landlord?

RICHARD (mock-humble).

He's absent, sir, on business of importance. But he will soon return.

If I may serve you--some cider, sir, or steaming lemon punch?

PENROSE (haughtily).

Let it be punch, and see that it is steaming.

RICHARD (busying himself).

At once, sir.

PENROSE (languidly).

Mark how importantly he takes the landlord's place. How old are you, young tapster?

RICHARD.

About your own age, sir, I have been thinking.

MARSH (with a laugh).

Zounds! You're well answered, Penrose.

RICHARD (seeing that Penrose starts up angrily).

Indeed 'twas truth I meant, sir, and no insult.

MARSH.

Sit down. Sit down. He is a simple fellow. (Taps his forehead.) He means no wrong. We might have sport with him.

RICHARD (still mock-humble).

If I can serve you, sir, to anything?

MARSH.

Suppose we call for tea?

RICHARD (simply).

We do not serve it.

MARSH (amused).

Oho! Oho! This is a rebel tavern. And so--no tea. You Yankees do not serve it.

RICHARD.

No; but we sometimes brew it--with salt-water.

MARSH (more and more amused).

'Tis as I said. Simple. Let's try him further. This tea you brew. It must have a new flavor?

RICHARD.

Aye, a new flavor. Some will find it bitter. It is a brew that will be long remembered.

MARSH.

I doubt not, if 'tis made as you have said.

PENROSE (yawning impatiently).

Come! I am weary for adventure! (Draws his cloak about him. Marsh somewhat reluctantly follows his example.) Let's see if there be sport about the wharves----

RICHARD (to himself).

The wharves----

MARSH (still reluctant).

On such a night as this--! Why, but a moment since you swore it was too cold! Besides, at the last tavern that we visited that fool of a Barton took my sword in jest. (Darkly.) He thought 'twas a rare bit of nonsense; but 'tis one I'll make him pay for! I'll not go roaming without my sword.

PENROSE (insisting).

But I have mine. One sword's enough for both. More than enough for any Yankees we are like to meet. We could give some of them a rare fright, comrade. Come, then, in search of----

RICHARD (who has utilized the time in which they were talking by silently taking a foil from the nearest chest).

Back! Do not come any nearer. You see this door is guarded.

[Stands before it, his mock humility gone, his voice resounding.

MARSH (angrily).

What does this mean?

RICHARD (suavely).

One of my crack-brained fancies. I wished to keep you, sirs, for twenty minutes.

PENROSE (insulted).

Even a crack-brained lout may go too far.

MARSH.

Have at him! He's but one----

RICHARD (clearly and pa.s.sionately, his voice a-thrill).

Behind me are a hundred--a thousand souls--all those who stand for freedom. Although you do not see them, they are there!

PENROSE (astounded).

What! Would he challenge us?

MARSH (scornfully).

A turn of the wrist and the thing is done. Have at him, Penrose.

[Penrose and Richard engage. Richard fights coolly, with his back ever to the door. Penrose grows more and more fl.u.s.tered. Marsh holds an iron candelabrum aloft, for the other candles have gutted and the room is shadowy.

PENROSE (fear in his voice).

The candles--higher. They're getting low. I cannot see----

[Richard and Penrose engage a second time, and Penrose's foil is flung across the room to left. Marsh is about to crash the candelabrum on Richard's sword, when Richard, with a deft movement, seizes it and hurls it to the floor, where it falls with a dull clatter. Marsh, discomfited, turns to Penrose, who has picked up his fallen sword, and is holding his wrist.

PENROSE (peevishly).

The lout has turned my wrist, and torn my ruffles.