“Undoubtedly.”

“I hear that it’s to be commanded by a general named Braddock, Edward Braddock.  What do you know of him?”

“Nothing.”

“But you do know, David, that regular army officers fare ill in the woods as a rule.  You’ve told me often that the savages are a tricky lot, and, fighting in the forest in their own way, are hard to beat.”

“You speak truth, Benjamin, and I’ll not deny it, but there are many of our men in the woods who know the ways of the Indians and of the French foresters.  They should be the eyes and ears of General Braddock’s army.”

“Well, maybe! maybe!  David, but enough of war for the present.  One cannot talk about it forever.  There are other things under the sun.  You will let these lads see New Amsterdam, will you not?  Even Tayoga can find something worth his notice in the greatest port of the New World.”

“Is any play being given here?” asked Robert.

“Aye, we’re having plays almost nightly,” replied Master Hardy, “and they’re being presented by some very good actors, too.  Lewis Hallam, who came several years ago from Goodman’s Fields Theater in England, and his wife, known on the stage as Mrs. Douglas, are offering the best English plays in New York.  Hallam is said to be extremely fine in Richard III, in which tragedy he first appeared here, and he gives it tomorrow night.”

“Then we’re going,” said Robert eagerly.  “I would not miss it for anything.”

“I had some thought of going myself, and if Dave hasn’t changed, he has a fine taste for the stage.  I’ll send for seats and we’ll go together.”

Willet’s eyes sparkled.

“In truth I’ll go, too, and right gladly,” he said.  “You and I, Benjamin, have seen the plays of Master Shakespeare together in London, and ’twill please me mightily to see one of them again with you in New York.  Jonathan, here, will be of our company, too, will he not?”

Master Pillsbury pursed his lips and his expression became severe.

“’Tis a frivolous way of passing the time,” he said, “but it would be well for one of serious mind to be present in order that he might impose a proper dignity upon those who lack it.”

Benjamin Hardy burst into a roar of laughter.  Robert had never known any one else to laugh so deeply and with such obvious spontaneity and enjoyment.  His lips curled up at each end, his eyes rolled back and then fairly danced with mirth, and his cheeks shook.  It was contagious.  Not only did Master Benjamin laugh, but the others had to laugh, not excluding Master Jonathan, who emitted a dry cackle as became one of his habit and appearance.

“Do you know, Dave, old friend,” said Hardy, “that our good Jonathan is really the most wicked of us all?  I go upon the sea on these cruises, which you call smuggling, and what not, and of which he speaks censoriously, but if they do not show a large enough profit on his books he rates me most severely, and charges me with a lack of enterprise.  And now he would fain go to the play to see that we observe the proper decorum there.  My lads, you couldn’t keep the sour-visaged old hypocrite from it.”