As I was waiting, a man came out of a side room, and, at a glance, I was sure he must be Long John. His left leg was cut off close by the hip, and under the left shoulder he carried a crutch, which he managed with wonderful dexterity, hopping about upon it like a bird. He was very tall and strong, with a face as big as a ham--plain and pale, but intelligent and smiling. Indeed, he seemed in the most cheerful spirits, whistling as he moved about among the tables, with a merry word or a slap on the shoulder for the more favoured of his guests. Now, to tell you the truth, from the very first mention of Long John in Squire Trelawney's letter, I had taken a fear in my mind that he might prove to be the very one-legged sailor whom I had watched for so long at the old "Benbow." But one look at the man before me was enough. I had seen the captain, and Black Dog, and the blind man Pew, and I thought I knew what a buccaneer was like--a very different creature, according to me, from this clean and pleasant-tempered landlord. I plucked up courage at once, crossed the threshold, and walked right up to the man where he stood, propped on his crutch, talking to a customer. "Mr. Silver, sir?" I asked, holding out the note. "Yes, my lad," said he; "such is my name, to be sure. And who may you be?" And then, as he saw the squire's letter, he seemed to me to give something almost like a start. "Oh!" said he, quite loud, and offering his hand, "I see. You are our new cabin-boy; pleased I am to see you." And he took my hand in his large firm grasp. Just then one of the customers at the far side rose suddenly and made for the door. It was close by him, and he was out in the street in a moment. But his hurry had attracted my notice, and I recognised him at a glance. It was the tallow-faced man, wanting two fingers, who had come first to the "Admiral Benbow." "Oh," I cried, "stop him! it's Black Dog!" "I don't care two coppers who he is," cried Silver. "But he hasn't paid his score.--Harry, run and catch him." One of the others who was nearest the door leaped up, and started in pursuit. "If he were Admiral Hawke he shall pay his score," cried Silver; and then, relinquishing my hand--"Who did you say he was?" he asked. "Black what?" "Dog, sir," said I. "Has Mr. Trelawney not told you of the buccaneers? He was one of them." "So?" cried Silver. "In my house!--Ben, run and help Harry. One of those swabs, was he? Was that you drinking with him, Morgan? Step up here." The man whom he called Morgan--an old, grey-haired, mahogany-faced sailor--came forward pretty sheepishly, rolling his quid. "Now, Morgan," said Long John, very sternly; "you never clapped your eyes on that Black--Black Dog before, did you, now?" "Not I, sir," said Morgan, with a salute. "You didn't know his name, did you?" "No, sir."