"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-nosed, big-mouthed; one eye was blue, the other green, and they looked in contrary directions. His hat was tilted forward, resting on two bony prominences above his eyebrows.
"Well?" said Mr. Toley, the man of melancholy countenance.