RICHARD.  Wait.  We must have other followers.  Followers, said I? Leaders—­with sagacity.  Run, Winwood!  Speak to John Hancock, Paul Revere, and Dr. Warren.  You know the coffee-house they sup at.  Tell them there are disguises for us all.  But let no red-coat hear you.  Quick!  The time is passing.

[Exit Winwood, on the run.

RIGBY
(half-overcome with his emotion). 
Richard!

RICHARD (helping him and the rest to dress, assisting first one and then another).  Be quick.  Let me help you.  Here are feathers.  Beads.  A knife.  Hatchets.  A Frenchman’s sash-belt.  A head-dress.

AMESBURY
(hurriedly fastening on his disguise). 
Where are yours, Dick?

RICHARD. 
Hush! (Touches his knee.) I cannot scale a ladder.  Listen!  Here’s
Winwood.

WINWOOD (bursting in).  Paul Revere, John Hancock, Dr. Warren—­all come with us.  I’ve run ahead to tell you they’ll meet us on the way.  Give 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.