"Fssst—fssst!" and then, a moment later, from the direction of the stove: "Sssss!"
It was Rudolf, who had squirted out a jet of tobacco juice between his teeth over on to the stove in the corner. Both the censors looked up, and the examiner laid down his pen, flashing a fiery glance at Rudolf from under his bushy brows.
"Pig!" said I, loud enough for the examiner to hear, and was rewarded with a nod of approval.
This saved the situation, for if the old man had lost his temper, it would have been all up with Dirrik's exam.
Rudolf sat staring before him, entirely unconcerned.
At last they began. I can still see the examiner's close-cropped hair and bushy eyebrows.
"Well, sir, can you tell me why a compass needle invariably points towards the north?"
Dirrik had not understood a syllable, but felt he ought in common decency to make pretence of thinking it out for a bit, then he said:
"Beg pardon, Captain, but would you mind reading out the question once again?"
A faint, almost imperceptible smile passed over the Captain's face. The two old skippers, Olsen and Wleugel, sat solemn as owls. Dirrik looked at the examiner, then at the censor, and finally his glance rested on us, with an expression of helpless resignation. Rudolf nodded, and whispered "Cheer up," but Dirrik neither saw nor heard.