me disguises. (They clap
an Indian robe across his shoulders, and he takes an armful of Indian
finery.) John Hancock says there's a boat and oars at the foot of the
wharves, and Paul Revere will lead us. Come quickly, lads!

[He dashes out the door, with his armful of finery. The others follow
one by one, as their readiness of costume determines.

RICHARD
(to himself).
And Paul Revere will lead them!

RIGBY
(his hand on Richard's shoulder).
Richard, you've been the brains, and we are but the fingers! We toss
the tea: but 'twas your heart that planned it. Will you not serve us--
serve us here on land? If any British come, see they don't go a-roving.
The fewer on the streets the better. D'ye catch my meaning? And,
Richard, one word more. You can see the ships from here. The work we'll
do will take but twenty minutes. If we succeed, I'll send you a signal.
I'll wave this lantern three times in the darkness.

RICHARD.
Bless you, Tom Rigby.

[Richard is left alone, and goes to seat by fire.

RICHARD
(dreaming aloud).
First they'll go to the wharves...stealing quietly through the
darkness. Then there'll be the muffled 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--