The door opened, and the two young men entered, the bolts and bars being instantly replaced. The person who came to the door might have possessed many excellent qualities, but her appearance was not in her favour. Her figure was stout and shapeless; her dress, wanting greatly in hooks and eyes and strings, worn and stained, looked ready to slip off her shoulders. Her hair, already sprinkled with white, escaped in dishevelled locks from beneath her mob cap, destitute of all stiffness, and darkened by soot and dust, while her thick lips and watery bloodshot eye showed that she not unfrequently indulged in potations deep and strong. Jacob, however, on entering, chucked her under the chin, and giving her a hearty smack on her flabby cheeks, told her to be a good old soul, and to get supper ready for two hungry wayfarers. At first she declared that she had dressed suppers for twenty men already, and that she was too sleepy to put another saucepan on the fire; but Jacob, after a little persuasion, made her promise to exert herself, and he then led the way into a room at the back part of the house. Here some dozen or more men were sitting round a table, most of them with pipes in their mouths, others with pots of ale or glasses of spirits before them, while several were playing at cards. They looked up at the new comers, who took their seats at the other end of the table. Jacob soon entered into conversation with those nearest him, and learned what ships were fitting out. The characters of various captains were discussed. "The `Brilliant,' Captain Everard, has just come in to refit, and is in want of hands. He's a right sort of officer. If I wanted to go afloat, I would volunteer on board his ship as soon as any other," remarked a seaman who was sitting opposite to them. "What do you say, Harry? Would you like to volunteer on board the `Brilliant'?" asked Jacob. "No, she would not suit me," answered Harry. "I have my reasons for not wishing to join her." "Run from her, maybe, once in a time?" observed a seaman. "Well, then there's the `Nymph,' Captain Cook. He's a good seaman, and not over-harsh with his men; and there's the `Saint Fiorenzo,' Captain Sir Harry Neale. Never a man has sailed with him who's worth his salt who would not wish to sail with him again. I wish there were many other captains in the navy like him. We should not have cause to complain as we have now."