Troup and Fish bore him off in triumph to Fraunces’ Tavern, where Stevens joined them immediately, hot, but exultant.

“I’ve just passed our president, looking like an infuriated bumblebee,” he cried.  “I know he heard your speech from some hidden point of vantage.  It was a great speech, Alec.  What a pity Hugh Knox, Mr. Lytton, and Benny Yard were not there to hear.  I’ll write them about it to-night, for St. Croix ought to burn a bonfire for a week.  It was a hurricane with a brain in it that whirled you straight to these shores—­as opportune for this country as for your own ambitions, for, unless I’m much mistaken, you’re going to be a prime factor in getting rid of these pestiferous redcoats—­we’ve a private room, so I can talk as I please.  One tried to trip me up just now, thinking I was you.”

Fish leaned across the table and looked penetratingly at Hamilton, who was flushed and nervous.  The young New Yorker had a chubby face, almost feminized by a soft parted fringe, but his features were strong, and his eyes preternaturally serious.

“You’ve committed yourself, Hamilton,” he said.  “That was no college play.  Whether you fight or not doesn’t so much matter, but you must give us your pen and your speech.  I’m no idle purveyor of compliments, but you are extraordinary, and there isn’t a man living can do for the cause with his pen what you can do.  Write pamphlets, and they’ll be published without an hour’s delay.”

“Ah, I see!” cried Hamilton, gaily.  “I was a bit bewildered.  You think my new patriotism needs nursing.  ’After all, he is a West Indian, born British, brought up under Danish rule, which is like being coddled by one’s grandmother.  He sympathizes with us, his mind is delighted with a new subject for analysis and discourse, but patriotism—­that is impossible,’ Is it not true?”

“You have read my thought,” said Fish, with some confusion.  “And you have a great deal to occupy your mind.  I never have known anyone whose brain worked at so many things at once.  I am selfish enough to want you to give a good bit of it to us.”

“I never was one to make fierce demonstrations,” said Alexander; “but fill up another bumper—­the first has calmed my nerves, which were like to jump through my skin—­and stand up, and I’ll drink you a pledge.”

The three other young men sprang to their feet, and stood with their glasses raised, their eyes anxiously fixed on young Hamilton.  They had believed him to be preparing himself for a great career in letters, and knowing his tenacity and astonishing powers of concentration, had doubted the possibility of interesting him permanently in politics.  They all had brains and experience enough—­it was a hot quick time—­to recognize his genius, and to conceive the inestimable benefit it could confer upon the colonial cause.  Moreover, they loved him and wanted to see him famous as quickly as possible.