emember swelling with indignation at the affront. "I call them
Tories, sir," I flashed back, "and I am none such." "No Tory!" says he,
nudging Mr. Fotheringay, who was with him; "I had as lief believe your
grandfather hated King George." I astonished them both by retorting that
Mr. Carvel might think as he pleased, that being every man's right; but
that I chose to be a Whig. "I would tell you as a friend, young man,"
replied the doctor, "that thy politics are not over politic." And they
left me puzzling, laughing with much relish over some catch in the
doctor's words. As for me, I could perceive no humour in them.

It was now near six of the clock, but instead of going direct to the
Governor's I made my way down Church Street toward the water. Near the
dock I saw many people gathered in the street in front of the "Ship"
tavern, a time-honoured resort much patronized by sailors. My curiosity
led me to halt there also. The "Ship" had stood in that place nigh on to
three-score years, it was said. Its latticed windows were swung open,
and from within came snatches of "Tom Bowling," "Rule Britannia," and
many songs scarce fit for a child to hear. Now and anon some one in the
street would throw back a taunt to these British sentiments, which went
unheeded. "They be drunk as lords," said Weld, the butcher's apprentice,
"and when they comes out we'll hev more than one broken head in this
street." The songs continuing, he cried again, "Come out, d-n ye." Weld
had had more than his own portion of rum that day. Spying me seated on
the gate-post opposite, he shouted: "So ho, Master Carvel, the streets
are not for his Majesty's supporters to-day." Other artisans who were
there bade him leave me in peace, saying that my grandfather was a good
friend of the people. The matter might have ended there had I been older
and wiser, but the excitement of the day had gone to my head like wine.
"I am as stout a patriot as you, Weld," I shouted back, and flushed at
the cheering that followed. And Weld ran up to me, and though I was a
good piece of a lad, swung me lightly onto his shoulder. "Harkee, Master
Richard," he said, "I can get nothing out of the poltroons by shouting.
Do you go in and say that Weld will fight any mother's son of them
single-handed."

"For shame, to send a lad into a tavern," said old Bobbins, who had known
my grandfather these many years. But the desire for a row was so great
among the rest that they silenced him. Weld