Seton paused, and:
"What is Dougal's exactly?" he asked; "a public house?"
"No," rapped Kerry. "It's a coffee-shop used by the dockers. You'll
see when we get inside. The place never closes so far as I know, and
if we made 'em close there would be a dock strike."
He crossed and pushed open the swing door. As Seton entered at his
heels, a babel of coarse voices struck upon his ears and he found
himself in a superheated atmosphere suggestive of shag, stale spirits,
and imperfectly washed humanity.
Dougal's proved to be a kind of hut of wood and corrugated iron, not
unlike an army canteen. There were two counters, one at either end,
and two large American stoves. Oil lamps hung from the beams, and the
furniture was made up of trestle tables, rough wooden chairs, and
empty barrels. Coarse, thick curtains covered all the windows but one.
The counter further from the entrance was laden with articles of food,
such as pies, tins of bully-beef, and "saveloys," while the other was
devoted to liquid refreshment in the form of ginger-beer and cider (or
so the casks were conspicuously labelled), tea, coffee, and cocoa.
The place was uncomfortably crowded; the patrons congregating more
especially around the two stoves.
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