"In the 'de Ruiter,' of your uncle Mijnheer van Trigt," replied partner Trommel.
"How long has he been there?" asked Van Lieverlee.
"For two or three weeks past."
"Is he a tall dark fellow with a beard, and curling hair, and a jumper?"
"That is it—exactly!" said various voices.
Van Lieverlee swung round, strode up to the window, threw back his head, pulled out his handkerchief, and snorted into it. The bystanders could hardly tell whether he was sneezing, or laughing, or indisposed.
"Excuse me!" he cried out. "Something comical occurred to me."
Then he snorted again, and one could plainly see that he was laughing.
"A Mahatma!" they heard him murmur, in the middle of his laughing. "Oh! Oh! but that is good! A Mahatma!"
Those present looked rather perplexed at this outburst, as if waiting for further explanation.