Having so done, mynheer courteously asked the stranger what he would please to have for dinner, it being now past eleven o'clock, and the dinner hour nigh. Whereat the stranger looked hard at him, and said not a word. Mynheer thereupon raised his voice so loud, that he frightened divers tame pigeons, sitting on their coop in the yard, who rose into the air out of sight, and, it is affirmed, never returned again. The stranger answered not a word, as before.
“_Wat donder is dat?_” exclaimed mynheer; “a man with such a full purse might venture to call for his dinner, I think.”
However, when Mynheer Swighauser and his family sat down to their dinner at twelve o'clock, the stranger, without any ceremony, sat down with them, taking the chair from time immemorial appropriated to mynheer's youngest child, who was thereat so mortally offended, that she set up a great cry, and refused to eat any dinner. Yffrouw Swighauser looked hard and angry at the stranger, who continued to eat as if it were his last, saying nothing all the while, and paying no more heed to the little child than he did to the hallooing of the boys or mynheer's courteous interrogatories.
When he had finished, he took up his hat, and went forth on a peregrination, from which he did not return until it was nigh dusk. Mynheer was in tribulation lest he should lose the price of his dinner, but the Yffrouw said she did not care if she never saw such a dumb noddy again. The stranger ate a huge supper in silence, smoked his pipe, and went to bed at eight o'clock, at which hour mynheer always shut up the front of his house, leaving the back door open to the roistering younkers, who came there to carouse every night, and play at all-fours. Soon after the stranger retired, there was heard a great noise in his room, which so excited the curiosity of Yffrouw Swighauser, that she took a landlady's liberty, and went and listened at the door. It proved only the stranger playing a concert with Morpheus, on the nasal trumpet, whereupon the yffrouw went away, exclaiming,
“The splutterkin! he makes noise enough in his sleep, if he can't when he is awake.”
That night the good city of Nieuw-Amsterdam was impestered with divers strange noises, grievous mishaps, and unaccountable appearances. The noises were such as those who heard them could not describe, and, for that reason, I hope the courteous reader will excuse me, if I say nothing more about them; the mishaps were of certain mysterious broken heads, black eyes, and sore bruises received, as was affirmed, from unknown assailants; and the mysterious appearances consisted in lights moving about, at midnight, in the Ladies' Valley, since called Maiden Lane, which might have passed for lightning bugs, only people that saw them said they were as big as jack-a-lanterns. Besides these, there were seen divers stars shooting about in the sky, and an old yffrouw, being called out after midnight on a special occasion, did certify that she saw two stars fighting with each other, and making the sparks fly at every blow. Other strange things happened on that memorable night, which alarmed the good citizens, and excited the vigilance of the magistrates.
The next night, matters were still worse. The lights in the Ladies' Valley were larger and more numerous; the noises waxed more alarming and unaccountable; and the stranger, while he continued to act and say nothing all day, snored louder than ever. At length, Yffrouw Swighauser, being thereunto, as I suspect, instigated by a stomachful feeling, on account of the stranger's having got possession of her favourite's seat, and set her a crying, did prevail, by divers means, of which, thank Heaven, I have little experience, being a bachelor, to have her husband go and make a complaint against the stranger, as having some diabolical agency in these matters.
“_Wat donner meen je_, wife?” quoth mynheer; “what have I to say against the man? He is a very civil, good sort of a body, and never makes any disturbance except in his sleep.”
“Ay, there it is,” replied the yffrouw. “I never heard such a snore in all my life. Why, it's no more like yours than the grunt of a pig is to the roar of a lion. It's unnatural.”
Mynheer did not like this comparison, and answered and said, “By St. Johannes de Dooper, whoever says I snore like a pig is no better than a goose.”