Mr. Toley lifted the tankard at his left hand, drained it, smacked his lips, then said in a hollow voice: 

“Bulger, Custom House Quay, Wednesday morning, five o’clock.”

A grunt of satisfaction and relief rolled round the company, and in response to repeated cries for more beer a stout woman in a mob cap and dirty apron came from the inn with a huge copper can, from which she proceeded to fill the empty tankards.

“Is the press still hot, sir?” asked Mr. Toley.

“Yes.  Four men, I was told, were hauled out of the Good Intent yesterday.”

“And four bad bargains for the king,” put in the second man, whose cross glances caused Desmond no little discomfort.

At this moment Joshua Wiggs, the innkeeper, came up, carrying three fowling pieces.

“There be plenty o’ ducks today, mister,” he said.

“Then we’ll try our luck,” said Mr. Toley, rising.

“Thank ’ee, my lad,” he added to Desmond.  “You’ll take a sup with the men afore you go?

“Bulger, see to the gentleman.”

“Ay, ay, sir.

“Come aboard, matey.”

He made a place for Desmond at his side on the bench, and called to Mother Wiggs to bring a mug for the gentleman.  Meanwhile, Mr. Toley and his companion had each taken a fowling piece and gone away with the landlord.  Bulger winked at his companions, and when the sportsmen were out of earshot he broke into a guffaw.

“Rare sport they’ll have!  I wouldn’t be in Mr. Toley’s shoes for something.  What’s a cock-eyed man want with a gun in his hand, eh, mateys?”

Desmond felt somewhat out of his element in his present company; but having reasons of his own for making himself pleasant, he said, by way of opening a conversation: 

“You seem pleased at the idea of going to sea again, Mr. Bulger.”

“Well, we are and we en’t, eh, mateys?  The Waterman’s Rest en’t exactly the kind of place to spend shore leave; it en’t a patch on Wapping or Rotherhithe.  And to tell ’ee true, we’re dead sick of it.  But there’s reasons; there mostly is; and the whys and wherefores, therefores and becauses, I dessay you know, young gen’lman, acomin’ from Captain Barker.”

“The press gang?”

“Ay, the press is hot in these days.  Cap’n sent us here to be out o’ the way, and the orficers to look arter us.  Not but what ’tis safer for them too; for if Mr. Sunman showed his cock-eyes anywhere near the Pool, he’d be nabbed by the bailiffs, sure as he’s second mate o’ the Good Intent.  Goin’ to sea’s bad enough, but the Waterman’s Rest and holdin’ on the slack here’s worse, eh, mateys?”

“Ay, you’re right there, Bulger.”

“But why don’t you like going to sea?” asked Desmond.

“Why?  You’re a landlubber, sir—­meanin’ no offense—­or you wouldn’t axe sich a foolish question.  At sea ’tis all rope’s end and salt pork, with Irish horse for a tit-bit.”