A small man, of uncertain age, the clerk turns out to be, now that the light is upon him. He may be thirty, or forty, or fifty; for, judged in some ways, he looks old, while judged in other ways he looks young; but it is certain that he is not jolly around the hotel as he was on the street, for he is very meek, and occasionally strokes his pale face, which is beardless, with the exception of a meek little tuft on either side, as though he thinks that since he has been caught laughing it will go hard with him. After looking at his companion, with an amused smile, for a moment, the stranger says that he will not mention anything, good or bad, "to him," whoever he may be, and, while thinking to himself that "Davy" is a familiar way of referring to Davy's Bend, he notices that the man who has already been called Tug, and who has found a chair and is sitting bolt upright in it, is eyeing him closely. He also remarks that Tug is hideously ugly, and that he is dressed in a suit of seedy black, which has once been respectable, but is now so sleek, from long use, that it glistens in the lamplight. He has a shock of hair, and a shock of beard, both of which seem to have been trimmed recently by a very awkward person; and the stranger also notices, in the course of his idle examination, that one of Tug's eyes, the left one, is very wide open, while the other is so nearly shut that generally the man seems to be aiming at something. When Tug winks with the eye that is wide open, the one that is nearly shut remains perfectly motionless, but follows the example presently, and winks independently and of its own accord, so that the stranger thinks of him as walking with his eyes, taking a tremendous leap with his left, and then a limp with his right. Tug continues his observations, in spite of the cold stare of the stranger, and makes several discoveries, one of which is, that the stranger has a rather good-looking face and a large and restless eye. Tug imagines that he can read the man's character in his eye as easily as in an open book, for it has varying moods, and seems to be resolute at one moment, and gloomy and discontented at another. Although he is looking straight at him, Tug is certain that the stranger's thoughts are not always in Davy's Bend; and, while thinking that the stranger has important matters to think of somewhere, the clerk returns from the kitchen, carrying in his arms a great piece of cold beef, a loaf of bread, a half a pie in a tin plate, and a coffee-pot and a tumbler. Covering with a newspaper a round table that stands in the room, he places the articles upon it, and asks the guest to sit up and help himself.