His kind host had already given him a friendly warning; some
of the writers and younger servants of the Company were wild spirits, and
spent more time than was good for them in cards and revels.
On the evening of the third day after his arrival he went down to the
river to watch the arrival of some country vessels. There was the usual
crowd at the ghat, and as Desmond gradually worked his way through it he
suddenly saw, just in front of him, two men whose backs were very
familiar. They were in the dress of seamen: one was tall and thin, the
other broad and brawny, and Desmond did not need his glimpse of the iron
hook to be sure that the men were none other than his old friend Bulger
and Mr. Toley, the melancholy mate. They were standing side by side
watching in silence the arrival of the boats.
Desmond edged his way to them until he was within arm's length of
Bulger's hook. He stood for a moment looking at them, imagining their
surprise when they saw him, wondering if their pleasure would be as keen
as his own. Both appeared rather battered; Mr. Toley's expression was
never merry, and he was neither more nor less melancholy than usual; but
Bulger's habitual cheerfulness seemed to have left him; his air was moody
and downcast.
How came they here? The Good Intent being an interloper, it was not at
all likely that she had ventured to put in at Calcutta.
By and by Bulger seemed to become aware that someone was gazing at him,
for he turned round slowly.
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