That night, the Annapolis Coffee-house was unusually popular. The General Assembly was in session, and representatives of all the prominent families of the Colony were in attendance. The Maryland Gazette had just appeared, announcing that it would not print Samuel Chase's answer, to the Mayor and Aldermen of the City, lest it be libelous, and that Chase could issue it himself. The whole controversy was of little moment and aimed at nothing. Nevertheless, it had stirred up all the latent ill feeling, that had existed for some time between Chase and his followers, on one hand, and the old residents of Annapolis, on the other.

"Chase always was a firebrand!" exclaimed young Mr. Paca; "some day, he will ignite the magazine on which he is sitting, and blow himself up."

"And the quicker he does it the better," suggested Mr. Hammond. "Chase has ability, but he does not use it for good."

"That is what gives me no patience with him," said Mr. Worthington. "He plays to the rabble—a queer trait for the son of a clergyman of the Church of England."

"It is all for effect," said Mr. Paca; "to get clients, to get prominence; down in his heart he has the same view as we have."

"That's it," said Mr. Cole, who was a bit the worse for liquor. "The fellow isn't honest."

"Who is not honest?" asked a medium-sized, heavy-set man of twenty-five, who had entered the room unnoticed.

"You!" returned Cole. "You don't believe what you say; you are playing to the rabble."

Chase looked at Cole closely for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

"I do not argue with a drunken man, much less quarrel with one," he said. "Do any of you other gentlemen endorse his words?"

"Not as spoken," said Mr. Paca; "but what we did say, is that we do not endorse your course as an official. You are the Public Prosecutor, and we do not approve of the way you use your office.—That we said, and that we stand behind."

"I am very sorry if I have not pleased you," said Chase, indifferently, taking a chair beside Paca; "I understand that a public official is a free subject for criticism, and the public may impugn his motives and his judgment—with that I find no fault."

"You said I was drunk," exclaimed Cole.

"Did I?" said Chase. "Well, you're not—you're not. I was mistaken. I apologize."

"It's granted," said Cole. "Have a drink with me.—Everybody have a drink with me. Here, Sparrow—where the devil's the fellow—take the gentlemen's orders.—Ah! sir," as a stranger appeared in the doorway, "come in; we're just going to have a drink. What will you have?"

The newcomer let his eyes rest, casually, on Cole.

"Permit me to decline," he said; "I was looking for some one."

"Your pardon, sir," said Mr. Paca, stepping forward; "are you not Sir Edward Parkington?"

"I am," he said; "at your service."

Mr. Paca extended his hand. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am William Paca; this is Mr. Hammond, and Mr. Worthington, and Mr. Cole, and Mr. Chase."

Parkington acknowledged the introduction with a sweeping bow, and took the proffered chair.

"What is your order, sir?" Cole persisted.

"A little rum and water, if you won't excuse me."

"I won't excuse you.—I won't excuse anybody," Cole averred. "Sparrow, some rum and water for Sir Edward Parkington, and make haste."

"Are you here for any time?" inquired Mr. Hammond.

"I should say that I am," replied Parkington. "If the hospitality I have received to-day is any test, you will not be quit of me for a year."

"You honor us," said Mr. Paca.

"No, I do not; I simply appreciate you. We have not got a more charming man, in London, than your Mr. Dulany; while as for your Governor, he is a true officer of his Majesty."

"We have never had so popular a Governor. He is a natural leader," said Mr. Worthington. "And now, that he has bought Whitehall, and erected a spacious mansion overlooking the Bay, he has become one of us. The only pity is that we have not been able to provide him with a wife."

"Not for want of charming women, I warrant."

"No, not on that account—Annapolis will yield to none in the beauty of her daughters. It is said there is an old wound that rankles still."

"An old wound! got in England?"

"No, got in Maryland, the very day he landed at the dock, from the good ship 'Mollie.' It is common rumor, and I violate no confidence by telling. There came with him, as secretary, one John Ridout—now, the Honorable John Ridout. He was met at the wharf by the Honorable Benjamin Tasker, President of the Council and acting Governor, who had with him his grandchild, Mary Ogle—then a mere slip of a girl of fourteen, but giving promise of rare beauty in the future. It is said, the Governor and John Ridout both fell in love that day, while they walked up Green Street, and along the Spa to the Tasker residence. Five years later, she chose the secretary, and gave the Governor nay."

"And Ridout remained the Governor's secretary?" Parkington asked.

"There showed the measure of the man. He is, to-day, the Commissary-General of the Province, and member of his Excellency's Council, and no one is so close to Governor Sharpe as is he."

"A pretty enough story," said Parkington; "do you think it is true?"

"We have no doubt of it."

"Well," observed Parkington, "one warms to him marvelously easy. What ailed the lady, that she chose the subaltern when she could have had the master?"

Mr. Paca laughed. "Women are a law unto themselves!" he said; "and Ridout is marvelously handsome and nearer her own age." A gurgle, ending in a prolonged snore, came from the chair beside him. "Ah! Cole slumbers. We shall hear from him no more to-night."

Presently, the talk veered over to politics. Notice of the Stamp Act being repealed had come to the Colony a month before, and had been made the occasion for an ardent demonstration, though, as a matter of fact, it had been a dead statute and unenforcible, in Maryland, from the moment of its passage. An act, once it is off the books, may be condemned in most disloyal language, and no offense be given, even if it were the pet measure of a sovereign. But George the Third was a stubborn monarch, and no sooner was the Stamp Act null and void, than a new hobby was his, and one that required no legislation to support it. And Samuel Chase, with a fine ignoring of the proprieties, soon hit upon it.

"I understand," said he, "that recently an application for land, beyond the Allegheny Mountains, was refused by the Board of Trade, in London."

Parkington was silent. Paca and Hammond both tried to change the conversation, but Chase would not have it.

"The Board of Trade will find itself ignored," he said. "There will not be any applications. The people will simply settle, and, when they are settled, nothing but a royal army will move them off; and when a royal army invades this country, for such a purpose, it means war."

With that, the rest broke in. Mr. Paca declared Chase spoke for himself alone, and Mr. Hammond that he was anticipating trouble; but Sir Edward Parkington surveyed Chase with a tolerant smile, and waved the matter aside.

"Do not concern yourself to soften the views the gentleman has just expressed," he said. "They give me no offense. I am a loyal subject of his Majesty, but I think that the quicker we free America, the better for both America and England. You will leave us some day, as the child leaves the parent when it reaches maturity; the only question is, when that time comes. I take it, that Mr. Chase is not trying to be offensive, and, if no offense be intended, none is given." He arose. "If any of you are going in the direction of Reynolds' Tavern, I shall be glad for your company."

Mr. Paca and Mr. Worthington attended him as far as Saint Anne's, where they parted; the two former going to their homes, on Prince George Street, while Parkington continued around the Circle to the tavern.

"Send a mug of ale to my room," he said, to the man in the ordinary....

The fellow lighted the candles, put the drink on the table, and, after a moment's wait, withdrew.

Parkington unbuckled his long rapier and flung it on the bed. Then he seated himself and took a sip of the ale, stretched out his slender legs, and laughed.

"Verily, the game is easier than I thought!" he soliloquized. "The real Parkington could not have played it better; I think I shall enjoy my visit to Annapolis. 'You are an unmitigated scoundrel, sir,' said my esteemed father. 'I have paid your debts for the last time; I shall give you passage to America, and one hundred pounds. Never let me look upon your face again—and, if there be a shred of decency about you, you will change your name. The De Lysles are done with you forever; have the goodness to be done with them.'" He took another sip at the ale, and laughed again. "Behold! my name is changed. I am Sir Edward Parkington, now—and Baltimore himself vouches for me. It was a lucky storm that sent the crazy 'Sally' to the bottom, and every one to the devil, save only me; but it was a luckier fortune that washed the real Sir Edward Parkington and me on the beach together, with him dead and me alive—and the letters on his person. 'There is no one in the Colony who knows me,' he had said, that very day. So, presto! Behold Sir Edward Parkington risen, and me dead.... It would be devilish awkward, if there is some one in the Colony who knows me—but that is in the future." He drew out a copy of Lord Baltimore's letter to his Excellency. "'Bespeak your most courteous attention and regard. Extend him all the hospitality in your power.' I was shipwrecked; I lost everything but the clothes on my back, and the letters, which were wrapped in oilskin, in my pocket. Therefore, I think the Governor's hospitality will have to be pressed for a loan. What, with him and Mr. Dulany, and a certain natural ability of my own at the card-table, I should be able to live very comfortably, here, for a year, at least. This Annapolis is a neat enough town—I was astonished at it; and they seem to do things reasonably well. The Coffee-house is quite the equal of any we have in London, and the Governor's mansion and Mr. Dulany's, near-by, are excellent.... This suit of clothes, I got in Saint Mary's, will answer until Pinkney can replace my wardrobe—lost when the ship went down!" He chuckled, softly, to himself. "And the fellow is not half bad; his styles are six months behind the fashion, but that is a small matter, when every one is wearing them.... Altogether, I think Sir Edward Parkington will have a pleasant year—at least, he is going to enjoy it while it lasts. After that, the deluge."