“I insist,� she said, “that we go to that house and get something to eat. I must wash my hands and brush myself off.�
“I’ll go, Saidee. You stay right here. It wouldn’t do for both of us to be seen at this time of night. I’ll say I was wrecked on the coast. Then we can go on into some town.�
Fay swung and started off toward the light in the farm-house. He was preceded by the Airedale, who barked once, leaped up the steps and scratched on the kitchen-door.
A broad-faced Hollander of the better sort peered out. To him, Fay offered two shillings for sandwiches. The man was joined by a woman who understood some English. She pressed back the shillings, took command, beckoned Fay inside the neatest kitchen he had ever seen, and there bustled about until a package of food was wrapped up and handed to him.
“Thanks,� he said, thrusting it under his coat. “I’m a thousand times obliged. Now can you tell me the way to the railroad? The chemin de fer?�
“Der Bahnhof?� asked the burger in German.
“Yes,� said Fay. “By all means, yes!�
The man went to the door, and pointed toward a road which crossed the canal at a sharp angle. His finger steadied in an easterly direction. He glanced at Fay.
“I understand,â€� said the cracksman, shifting the bundle of sandwiches under his arm. “That way? I’m much obliged! Thanks, good frau,â€� he added gallantly. “I guess there’s queer people knock on Holland doors these days—but none queerer than myself. Good-by!â€�
Fay hurried through the gloom. He turned once and saw the couple, who seemed to be childless, standing in the oval light of the open door. At their feet sat the dog, his intelligent head held sideways.