“Vat you say mit her, Shules Tamant?” demanded Jan, his fist vibrating to and fro in front of the Roman nose of Damand. “Yoost you shpeaks now, vile I dalks mit you. I vants to know yoost all apout it. Off you say a vord mit her vat ish not goot, I vill preak you in so many ash vorty t’ousand bieces.”
“I will make daylight shine through your body in a moment if you do not take care,” said Damand. “Get out of my way.”
“I von’t! I shtays here yoost so long ash I haf a mind to. Now yoost you look here. You’s a vool, you is. I nefer sees such a vool in all mine life. Auver a man knows any t’ing he know petter ash to talk mit a vooman, unt put a hant to a knife.”
“Stand aside,” roared Jules, whipping out his knife. “It will be better for you.”
Jan instantly knocked him down in spite of his knife, and tied his hands and feet. When he recovered from the blow Jan had conveyed him into the cabin and shut the door. He writhed about in his bonds.
“Jan!” he bawled. No answer. “Jan Schneider!”
A silence like the grave. After he had roared himself hoarse Jan thrust his head in at the door and said quietly:
“Vas you callin’ me?”
“Of course I was.”
“Berhaps you ton’t know I’ve got a hantle to mine name, Mister Shules Tamant? Beeples call me Mynheer Jan Schneider.”