'So! Veil, Ephraim Meek, never I exbected to haf ze bleasure to see you again. Ze ozers--vere are zey?'
Meek looked at him for a few moments in silence. The German was not aware, then, that the other three had been with him in the native village. Slow-witted though he was, Meek had an inspiration. To tell the truth might harm his friends. He had a brief struggle with his conscience, decided for a compromise, and said:
'I don't know. They may be eat.'
'So!' Hahn looked pleased. 'Zey vere fatter as you. Ze niggers keep you to fatten, eh? Veil, Ephraim Meek, I save you, see? I bring you here. You are safe. Of course, you must make yourself useful. You shall eat, zerefore shall you vork. You shall find a pick or a basket--and zere is blenty of coal.'
Meek stroked his whiskers, looked at the German, then shook his head.
'No; I can't do it,' he said. 'Not coal.' Hahn laughed.
'You do look like a broken-kneed horse,' he said. 'Not equal to ze niggers; but you haf strength enough for zis job.'
'Not coal,' Meek repeated, in his mournful tones.
'Vy not coal? You are afraid to soil ze hands? Ach! Is coal more dirty as ze tar of your ropes? A seaman's hands! Ha! ha! You are funny man, Meek!'
Hahn laughed heartily; it seemed to him a very good joke. Meek, however, had thrust his hands into his pockets and set his lips doggedly.