'Tis only I. Go on with the candles, landlord.
RIGBY
(joyfully).
Only you, Dick Stockton! Zounds! There's none whom I'd sooner see!
Quick! Tell me the news! These be stirring days, and here am I tied to
this tavern-room, and afraid to leave it lest those brawling red-coats
loot it while I'm gone. To leave a tavern-room empty is to invite
disaster--and yet--what patriot should bide indoors on days like these!
'Faith! I'm torn 'twixt necessities! Come! Your news. Sit by the fire
and out with it! What's to become of the tea we won't pay taxes on?

RICHARD.
Give me breath and I'll tell you! There's news to make your blood boil.
I've been at the town meeting in the Old South Church all day. What
think you--! The governor at Milton has refused a pass to Francis
Rotch, and the tea ships cannot leave the harbor. The British have
sworn they'll make us pay the tax or wring our scurvy necks.

RIGBY
(outraged).
Zounds! There are necks I'd like to have the wringing of! What else,
lad, what else?

RICHARD.
The Old South Church could not hold half the patriots who wish to talk
and listen. Such speeches! Oh, they'd stir your blood if you could hear
them!

RIGBY
(eyes a-gleam).