I’ll never eat salted codfish from your generosity! Our whole share is in “profit and loss.” When luck is with us we each make eight guilders a week, one guilder a day when we’re lucky. One guilder a day at sea, to prepare salt fish, cod with livers for the people in the cities—hahaha!—a guilder a day—when you’re lucky and don’t go to the bottom. You fellows know what you’re about when you engage us on shares.
[Old and young heads of fishermen appear at the window.]
A Voice.
Are you coming? [Bos is politely greeted.]
Geert.
I shall soon follow you.
Bos.
Good voyage, men! And say to the skipper—no, never mind—I’ll be there myself——[A pause.] Twenty-five minutes past two. Now I’ll take two minutes more, blockhead, to rub under your nose something I tried three times to say, but you gave me no chance to get in a word. When you lie in your bunk tonight—as a beast, of course!—try and think of my risks, by a poor catch—lost nets and cordage—by damages and lightning in the mast, by running aground, and God knows what else. The Jacoba’s just had her hatches torn off, the Queen Wilhelmina half her bulwarks washed away. You don’t count that, for you don’t have to pay for it! Three months ago the Expectation collided with a steamer. Without a thought of the catch or the nets, the men sprang overboard, leaving the ship to drift! Who thought of my interests? You laugh, boy, because you don’t realize what cares I have. On the Mathilde last week the men smuggled gin and tobacco in their mattresses to sell to the English. Now the ship lies chained. Do you pay the fine?
Geert.