"Ay sure, minds 'ee of home; your country's full of mills, to be sure. Mebbe you be a miller, now?"
The Dutchman waited to blow a great cloud from his mouth before he answered.
"A sailor," he said; "but I have mills."
"A skipper," rejoined Sherry, looking over his costume. "'Tis not for me to say, but to mortal eye you be more like a varmer.—'Tis a skipper from Holland," he added, including Harry in the conversation, "that has a mill or two to his name and smokes 'bacca out o' Barbados."
"Jan Grootz," said the Dutchman.
Harry acknowledged the introduction, and remarked on the slowness of their progress over the rough road. On this Mynheer Grootz volunteered the remark that, having come all the way from Bristol, he would be glad when the journey was ended. By degrees he became still more communicative; and when the coach pulled up at Basingstoke for the mid-day meal, Harry had learnt that the Dutchman had been to Bristol to inspect a vessel of which he was part-owner, and which had come most fortunately to port after being first knocked about by a French privateer, then badly damaged by a storm. It was to the storm that she owed her escape from the Frenchman, and to her captain's seamanship her escape from the storm. Grootz was particularly gratified at her safe arrival, for she represented a large amount not only to him personally, but to others who could ill afford to lose on a venture upon which he had persuaded them to embark.
When the journey was resumed, the conversation became still more friendly. Harry liked the look of the Dutchman. His broad face with its wide nose and little eyes was not handsome, but its expression inspired confidence; and the careful slowness of his speech, and his habit of pointing with his forefinger when he wished to be emphatic, were a little amusing. He asked no questions, but Harry by and by found himself explaining his own position and relating the events that had led to it, and told him of his projected visit to Lord Godolphin. At this up came the forefinger.
"Ah, my young vrient, you are de son of a minister: ver' well: you know de good Book: ver' well: 'Put not your drust in princes;' de words are drue. I tell you dis; besides my mills and my ships, I do oder dings; I supply food for de men and horses of de English and Dutch armies; and I have met princes; yes—I, Jan Grootz. I tell you dis; wid a good honest merchant of London or of Amsterdam, I care not, man knows where he stand; his foot is on de solid rock; but wid dukes and grand-dukes and oder princes—ah! man tread a quicksand. Dey promise, but do dey pay? You are good boy, I dink; mind you, I do not say I know, for outside do not always speak drue; de apple may be red, and all de time a maggot at core. I tell you dis; seven year ago I make contract over hay wid young captain of Bavarian Elector; it was in Namur campaign; he look good, he speak good, I am well content; but donder! my hay I lose, and 3242 thalers 3 groschen beside. Dis den I tell you; avoid arms and de law, drive some honest trade: zo you respect yourself, and oder people dey respect you. You owe noding; nobody owe you; you are a man."
Ever since the departure from Basingstoke, Sherebiah, sitting just behind Harry, had taken no part in the conversation, but appeared to find something curiously interesting in the road behind, for after once or twice looking over his shoulder he at last faced round altogether, and sat with his back to the horses. Just as the Dutchman finished his speech—the longest to which he had yet given utterance, and one that his slow delivery lengthened beyond its natural extent—Sherebiah turned round, tapped Harry on the shoulder, and in a low tone said:
"Summat's i' the wind."