Page:History of Journalism in the United States.djvu/152

126 of Ethan Allen, the truth of which is not established in any of the biographies of Allen:

"I was sitting," said Rivington, "after a good dinner, alone, with my bottle of Madeira before me, when I heard an unusual noise in the street, and a huzza from the boys. I was in the second story, and, stepping to the window, saw a tall figure in tarnished regimentals, with a large cocked hat and an enormous long sword, followed by a crowd of boys, who occasionally cheered him with huzzas, of which he seemed insensible. He came up to my door and stopped. I could see no more. My heart told me it was Ethan Allen. I shut down my window and retired behind my table and bottle. I was certain the hour of reckoning had come. There was no retreat. Mr, Staples, my clerk, came in paler than ever, and clasping his hands, said:

"'Master, he is come.

"'I know it.'

"'He entered the store and asked if James Rivington lived there.

"'I answered, "Yes, sir." "Is he at home? "" I will go and see, sir," I said; and now, master, what is to be done? There he is in the store and the boys peeping in at him from the street.'

"I had made up my mind. I looked at the bottle of Madeira—possibly took a glass.

"'Show him up,' said I, 'and if such Madeira cannot mollify him, he must be harder than adamant.'

"There was a fearful moment of suspense. I heard him on the stairs, his long sword clanking at every step. In he walked.

"'Is your name James Rivington?'

"'It is, sir, and no man could be more happy than I am to see Colonel Ethan Allen.'