the others, sat opposite each other,
intent on some game.

Desmond's attention was drawn towards the larger table. Rough as was the
common seaman of George the Second's time, the group here collected would
have been hard to match for villainous looks. One had half his teeth
knocked out, another a broken nose; all bore scars and other marks of
battery.

Among them, however, there was one man marked out by his general
appearance and facial expression as superior to the rest. In dress he was
no different from his mates; he wore the loose blouse, the pantaloons,
the turned-up cloth hat of the period. But he towered above them in
height; he had a very large head, with a very small squab nose, merry
eyes, and a fringe of jet-black hair round cheeks and chin.

When he removed his hat presently he revealed a shiny pink skull, rising
from short, wiry hair as black as his whiskers. Alone of the group, he
wore no love locks or greased pigtail. In his right hand, when Desmond
first caught sight of him, he held a tankard, waving it to and fro in
time with his song. He had lost his left hand and forearm, which were
replaced by an iron hook projecting from a wooden socket, just visible in
his loose sleeve.

He was halfway through the second stanza when he noticed Desmond standing
at the angle of the hedge a few yards away. He fixed his merry eyes on
the boy, and, beating time with his hook, went on with the song in
stentorian tones:

"An ass, an ass, an Ass, an ASS,
Signed 'Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras.'"

The others took up the chorus, and finally brought their tankards down
upon the deal with a resounding whack.

"Ahoy, Mother Wiggs, more beer!" shouted the big man.

Desmond went forward.

"Is this the Waterman's Rest?"

"Ay, ay, young gen'leman, and a blamed restful place it is, too, fit for
watermen what en't naught but landlubbers, speaking by the book, but not
fit for the likes of us jack tars. Eh, mateys?"

His companions grunted acquiescence.

"I have a message for Mr. Toley; is he here?"

"Ay, that he is. That's him at the table yonder.

"Mr. Toley, sir, a young gen'leman to see you."

Desmond advanced to the smaller table. The two men looked up from their
game of dominoes. One was a tall, lean fellow, with lined and sunken
cheeks covered with iron-gray stubble, a very sharp nose, and colorless
eyes; the expression of his features was melancholy in the extreme. The
other was a shorter man, snub-