I must
sell or pledge or borrow, at an interest most villainous, from the
thrifty folk in Duke Street.

So now, when I offered to discuss the danger of extravagance, he swore
he would not have a day's pleasure ruined by a sermon, and presently we
rose and went into the garden to mount, and I saw Sir Peter
distributing silver among the servants, so that all could share the
pleasure and lay wagers among their kind for the honor of the Flatbush
birds and the master who bred them.

"Come, Carus," he sang out from his saddle, and I followed him at a
gallop out into Broadway and up the street, keeping under the shade of
the trees to save our horses, though the air was cool and we had not
far to go.

Presently he drew bridle, and we walked our horses past Partition
Street, past Barckley, and the common, where I glanced askance at the
ominous row of the three dread buildings, the Bridewell, the Almshouse,
the Prison, with the Provost's gallows standing always ready between;
and it brought sullen thoughts to me which four years of patience could
not crush; nor had all these years of inaction dulled the fierce spark
that flashed to fire within me when I looked up at the barred windows
and at the sentinels, and thought of mine own people rotting there, and
of Mr. Cunningham, the Provost, whom hell should one day be the worse
for.

"Is aught amiss, Carus?" asked Sir Peter, catching my eye.

"Yes, the cruelty practised yonder!" I blurted out. Never before had I
said as much to any man.

"You mean the debtors--or those above in the chain-room?" he asked,
surprised.

"I was not speaking of the Bridewell, but of the Prison," I said.

"What cruelty, Carus? You mean the rigor Cunningham uses?"

"Rigor!" I said, laughing, and my laugh was unpleasant.

He looked at me narrowly. We rode past Warren Street and the Upper
Barracks in silence, saluting an officer here and there with
preoccupied punctiliousness. Already I was repenting of my hardiness in
mixing openly with politics or war--matters I had ever avoided or let
pass with gay indifference.

"Carus," he said, patting his horse's mane, "you will lay a bet for the
honor of the family this time--will you not?"

"I have no money," I replied, surprised; for never before had he
offered to suggest an interference into my own affairs--never by word
or look.

"No money!" he repeated, laughing. "Gad, you rake, what do you do with
it all?" And as I continued silent, he said mor