“And now,” continued the speaker, as Kirstoffel handed him a cup, “let us drink to the health of our stout friend, Colonel Benjamin Fletcher.”
Fletcher! I remembered that name. He was the person who had sent to Captain Tew the buttons that I now had in my pocket. The toast was drunk enthusiastically. Then someone sprang upon a chair and began to beat time; the company followed his example and soon they were all singing this song which they accompanied boisterously with the jingle of mugs and the clatter of feet:
“Hi! Ho! Kirstoffel’s brew,
Gi' good den to Kilian’s crew;
Klink the can,
Let every man
Drink to Van Volkenberg.”
At the last word the tall speaker bowed right and left, whereby I knew he was the patroon.
I felt in my pocket for the silver buttons and, taking one of them in the hollow of my hand with my fingers closed over so as to conceal it till the proper moment, I rose to approach the patroon. This act drew all eyes upon me. There was the same ominous silence as before, accompanied now, however, with ten times the contempt and anger shown at my first entrance. The ill feeling against me was so evident and, so far as I knew, so without cause, that I was fairly nonplussed. No one spoke. The only sounds were the ticking of the tall clock in the corner and a few taps of Van Volkenberg’s cane upon the floor. He likewise seemed to share the general resentment against me.
“Mynher,” said I, as yet holding the button in my hand. “I came to ask——”