"I tell you dis," he said. "I go back to my country zoon. I have business wid de armies; I sell hay for de horses, meal for de men. You are quick, I see dat; you speak French, enough for my purpose; I give you good wages if you come and help me in my business."
Harry flushed. The Dutchman dipped a hunk of bread into his soup and filled his mouth with it, looking down at the bare deal board the while.
"I thank you, Mynheer," said Harry with some constraint. "I have another purpose, as you know."
Up came the fat forefinger, moist with gravy.
"I speak plain to you. You have pride; I alzo. But I have mills, and ships, and vields; dey are mine; I am rich—ja, rich; I, Jan Grootz. My fader, he was a poor weaver in Dort; he work hard and die poor; I work hard, and grow rich. I have what for to be proud. You are a gentleman; dat is zo; it is good to be a gentleman; it is not good to be poor. And more, it is not good to zee money go every day, every day, and wait for some prince to fill de empty purse. You have pride; for what? For white hands, and by and by an empty stomach. My hands, dey are not white, naturlik; but my stomach is full, and I stand up before any prince; Jan Grootz; zo!"
He spread his broad hands before Harry, as though he were proud even of their horny skin. The action brought a smile to the lad's gloomy face and dulled the edge of his irritation.
"I won't debate the matter with you," he said. "I'm not afraid of work, I hope, and maybe my white hands may be red enough before long. I won't despair of my lord Marlborough yet; and I know your intention is friendly, Mynheer."
The Dutchman grunted, and applied himself again to his meal.
Great as were Harry's anxieties, Sherebiah's were perhaps even greater. He also was disappointed by the forgetfulness or neglect of Marlborough, and concerned at the constant drain upon his young master's purse; but he had further causes of trouble of which Harry was unaware. Ever since their arrival in London Sherebiah had been possessed by a dread of impending ill. He had always in mind the interview between Captain Aglionby and the squire's man at the White Hart tavern, and day by day expected it to bear fruit to Harry's harm; but for reasons of his own he hesitated to tell him the plain truth. He stuck like a leech to Harry when he went walking, and many times when the lad would rather have been alone with his dismal thoughts he found Sherebiah at his heel, like the watch-dog to which he had compared him. He did not know that even when he succeeded in eluding his too solicitous henchman, it was only in appearance; for Sherebiah, armed with a stout ash cudgel, was seldom many yards behind. Many a night after Harry had gone disconsolate to his bed, the man wended his way to Southwark in the hope of making a further discovery; but he never saw the captain or anyone whom he knew to be connected with him, and when at last he found an opportunity of making a discreet enquiry at the hostelry, he was more alarmed than pleased to find that Captain Aglionby had departed some time before, and that nothing had since been heard of him.
One morning, when they had been for about a month in London, when Parliament had been prorogued, and a new year had opened, Sherebiah surprised Harry by suggesting that they should remove to an inn near Leicester fields.