any one would
appear, but no one came.

The early risers--the milkmen and bakers' apprentices going their
rounds, shop boys on their way to kindle fires in stores--all stopped
to look at the figure. The news quickly spread. People left their
breakfast-tables to see the joke played on Mr. Lillie. Ebenezer
Richardson, however, could not see the fun of the thing. The
schoolboys called him "Poke Nose" because he was ever ready to poke
into other people's affairs.[39] The officers of the Custom House
employed him to ferret out goods smuggled ashore by merchants, who,
regarding the laws as unjust and oppressive, had no scruples in
circumventing the customs officers. Richardson hated the Sons of
Liberty, and haunted the Green Dragon to spy out their actions.

[Footnote 39: The offensive and unjust laws and acts and ordinances of
the Board of Trade in enforcing the collection of customs dues had
brought about systematic effort to circumvent the Custom House
officials, who employed spies and informers to ferret out fraudulent
transactions. Smuggling was regarded as a virtue, and outwitting the
officials a duty rather than an offense. Ebenezer Richardson, by his
service to the Custom House officials, made himself obnoxious to the
community. An account of the incidents that led to the shooting of
Christopher Snider may be found in the newspapers of March, 1770.]

"This is their work," he said to those around the figure. "It's
outrageous. Mr. Lillie has just as good a right to sell tea as
anything else, without having everybody pointing their fingers at him.
It's an insult. It's disgraceful. Whoever did it ought to be
trounced."

"Charcoal! Charcoal! Hard and soft charcoal!"

It was the cry of the charcoal-man, turning from Union into Middle
Street.

"I'll get him to run his sled against it and knock it over," said Mr.
Richardson to himself.

Slowly the charcoal vender advanced.

Seeing the post and the group of people around it, he reined in his
old horse and looked at the figure.

"See here," said Mr. Richardson. "Just gee a little and run the nose
of your sled agin it and knock it over, will ye? It's a tarnal
fiendish outrage to set up such a thing in front of a gentleman's
store."

"Do you own the figger?"

"No."

"Do you own the store?"

"No."

"Anybody ax ye to get it knocked down?"

"No; but it's an outrage which honest citizens ought to resent."

"Think so, do ye?"

"Yes, I do; and everybody else