The proprietor of this establishment was Moses Mellen, a little Jew, with a countenance clearly indicating his Israelitish descent. His small black eyes sparkled with the greed of gain, and he had a long, hooked nose like the beak of a bird, which would not have been considered too small an appendage for a face of twice the size. He had one qualification for a successful trader—he seldom or never forgot a face which he had once seen.
Rubbing his hands with a great show of cordiality, and with his face wreathed in smiles, the instant he espied Randall he hastened to meet him.
"Delighted to see you, Mr. Randall," he exclaimed; "perhaps I ought to say Captain Randall."
"Not yet."
"Ah well, that will come soon. I hope you have had a prosperous voyage."
"Tolerably so, Mr. Mellen."
"Have you just arrived in the city, or have you been here for some time?"
"Three weeks only, and now I am off again. We sailors don't have a chance to stop long on dry land, Mr. Mellen."
"Not if they are such capital sailors as my friend, Mr. Randall. But where are you bound this time?"
"Probably to Valparaiso."