Jacob Worse smiled. Theology was now put aside, and they mixed a fresh tumbler.
"But there is one thing you cannot get over, Jacob. It was a sin and shame that you gave up the sea so early. Everybody who inquires about you says so."
"Does any one inquire about me?"
"Inquire about you! why, they talk about you from Copenhagen to Kronstadt. Do you remember the stout damsel at the 'Drei Norweger' in Pillau?"
"Was that where we danced?"
"No; that was at Königsberg. Good gracious!" said Randulf, compassionately, "have you forgotten it already? No; the stout individual at Pillau wept salt tears when she heard you were married. 'Ach du lieber,' said she. 'Was soll now the arme Minchen machen when the lustige Jacob Worse has gegiftet sich.'"
"Did she really say that?" cried Worse, touched. "However, it is not correct as you repeat it. I wonder, Thomas, you never learnt to speak German."
"I tell you what: I can get on well enough. I soon find out when they are trying to cheat me; then they come smirking and smiling with 'Guten Abis.' But when they say 'Das gloobis,' look out for yourself, for then they are most deceitful."
"Just let them try me. I know how to manage them," said Worse, boastingly. "Old Bencke in Dantzic learnt the truth of that. At first they cheated me in herrings, as they always do."
"Always," said Randulf, assentingly.