“Well, we are not entirely without representation.”

“Is that so? Our Assembly has been stripped of all power.” Old Eliot paused a moment. “Or are you referring to the doctrine of virtual representation?” He spoke the last words with wonderful contempt.

John Master was aware that some in London had argued that, since the British Parliament had the interests of the colonists at heart, then although the colonists had no actual representation in the British legislature, they were virtually represented. He could just imagine the ridicule to which the Boston lawyer would easily subject that notion.

“I am not referring to that foolish doctrine,” he declared. “But at least our voice is heard in London. Wouldn’t it be wiser to seek a better understanding with the king’s ministers, rather than merely provoke them?”

For a moment or two, the Boston man was silent, and John even wondered if he might have gained a point. But no such luck.

“When we met before,” the lawyer finally said, making it clear the memory gave him no pleasure, “it was the time of the Zenger trial.”

“I remember Zenger.”

“That was a question of principle.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, so is this.” Eliot Master began to turn away.

“Will you call upon us before you leave?” John offered. “My wife would be—”

But Eliot was already in motion.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

The Philadelphia congress went speedily to its work. But if John Master had hoped for judicious compromise, he was sadly disappointed.

“They’ve gone mad,” he cried, when he heard what they had decided. “Boston is to take up arms against the mother country? What became of moderation and good sense?” And when the men supporting the congress called themselves Patriots, he said: “How can you be a Patriot when you’re disloyal to your king and country?”

It was at this time that he began consciously to refer to himself by another term he’d heard.

“If they are Patriots,” he declared, “then I’m a Loyalist.”

But the tide was against him. Decent men like Beekman and Roosevelt were taking the Patriot side. Even John Jay, a man of good sense, who’d always declared that those who own the country ought to run it, had been convinced. “I don’t like it any more than you,” he told Master on his return, “but I don’t think we can do anything else.”

In the city, the Assembly was getting weaker by the day. The Sons of Liberty were triumphant. The smaller craftsmen had formed their own Mechanics Committee. Master heard that Charlie White was on it. And now they and the Liberty Boys told the Assembly: “We’ll make sure the congress is obeyed in New York. Not you.”