"Your guests are merry to-night," said Danjuro.
"It's the gentlemen from the mine, sir," said the landlord. "It's one of their nights off, so to speak. Would you like to join 'em for half an hour?"
"I think not on our first night. But they sing very well. As a foreigner I am interested in all English customs; may I take a peep?..."
He had gone to the communicating door as he spoke, and pulling aside a red curtain which covered the upper half of glass, he looked through. I did the same.
The long room was full of people and tobacco smoke. With a single exception, that of Mr. Vargus, they were all quite young men, ranging, I should say, from three-and-twenty to thirty. Most of them were dressed in old tweed suits, but the material and cut told their own tale, and spoke of the "right" kind of tailor. At first glance they might have been a collection of naval officers or senior undergraduates, but only at first glance. My eyes roved from face to face, and on each I saw the loss of innocence and honour. Some were cunning; others had a brutality in ill accord with their youth, and there was a hard bravado in the eyes of all. It was sickening. One felt that one had suddenly looked upon something that should remain hidden. In that haze of smoke lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and evil in the universe.
I almost wanted to spit upon the floor, in an uncontrollable gesture of repudiation. As I turned, I saw the landlord looking at me.
"A promising lot of young devils," said I.
"You do see it too, zur?" he replied, and then Danjuro touched my arm, and I turned to look again. A man, without a hat, had just entered the room from the outside. He sat in a chair which he had obviously occupied before, for he was in naval uniform, and his cap was lying there. He was a big, foolish-looking fellow, far gone in drink, but despite that his face was the only wholesome one there.
"Who is that?" I whispered to Trewhella, as Mr. Vargus poured a generous allowance of rum into the new-comer's glass.