“So help me, as I never know I vas vanted to help you mit de fire,” said Jan. “I vas sit here, mit mine shmoke-pipe, unt I vas dinking auver the times ven I vas in Yarmany. Yaw; dat is vat I dinks.”
“I s’pose it’s considerable of a kentry,” said the old trapper.
“Consider’ble mit a coonthry! Mein Cott! Dere is no such coonthry mit all the earth. Vat! Ish dere any vere you kin find such vine ash ve have dere? Now I dells you. Ven you coes to St. Louis, you vas co to Yawcob Post’s saloon av you vants goot Rhine vine. Dere ish goot many blaces mit St. Louis vere dey says dey keeps goot Rhine vine. Put I dells you dat ish no more ash von lie! Dere ish no more ash your blaces in dat town vere you can get goot vine, unt mein frent Yawcob’s ish von, I dells you drue.”
“It’s mighty poor stuff to drink,” said the trapper. “Fer me now, when I drink, I take a little good rye whisky. That’s good enough fer me.”
“Boor shtuff! Penn Miffin, av it vash not dat I know you too vell, I vould hit you mit your nose av you says dat vonce more. I dells you dere ish nottings so goot ash Rhine vine.”
“Yes, for a Dutchman,” said Ben.
“But you ish voolin’. Dere, I seen you laff. Don’t say dat no more,” said Jan.
“What does ye think about it, Jule?” said Ben, looking at the Frenchman.
“That it is very bad drink,” said the Frenchman. “Peste! The first time I drank it, it was so sour I thought it would make me turn myself inside out to get rid of it. The Rhine grape is very bad. In la belle France they make wine that is good.”
“Vy den you ask him?” blustered Jan. “Vat ish he more ash a Vrenchman? Unt I ask you now, aff you vas dell me, vat ish de goot over a man vat eats vrogs? So help me gracious, dey is no more goot to eat dan snakes. Unt dey ish p’ison.”