The yffrouw had a point to gain, or mynheer Swighauser would have repented this rejoinder.
“My duck-a-deary,” said she, “whoever says you don't snore like a fiddle has no more ear for music than a mole—I mean a squeaking fiddle,” quoth she, aside.
Without further prosecuting this dialogue, let it suffice to say that the yffrouw at length wrought upon mynheer to present the stranger unto Alderman Schlepevalcker as a mysterious person, who came from—nobody knew where, for—nobody knew what; and for aught he knew to the contrary, was at the bottom of all the disturbances that had beset the good people of Nieuw-Amsterdam for the last two nights. Accordingly, the honest man went on his way to the Stadt Huys, where the excellent magistrate was taking his turn in presiding over the peace of the city of Nieuw-Amsterdam, and told all he knew, together with much more besides.
During this communication, the worthy alderman exclaimed, from time to time, “Indeedaad!” “Onbegrypelyk!” “Goeden Hemel!” “Is het mogelyk!” “Vuur envlammen!” and finally dismissed Mynheer Swighauser, desiring him to watch the stranger, and come next day with the result of his observations. After which he went home to consult his pillow, which he considered worth all the law books in the world.
The honest publican returned to the City Tavern, where he found supper all ready; and the stranger, sitting down as usual in the old place, ate a hearty meal without uttering one word. The yffrouw was out of all patience with him, seeing she never before had a guest in the house four-and-twenty hours, without knowing all about him. The upshot of the interview with the worthy magistrate being disclosed to the yffrouw, it was agreed in secret to set old Quashee, the black hostler, to watch the stranger; though the yffrouw told her husband he might as well set a wooden image to do it, for Quashee was the most notorious sleepyhead in all Nieuw-Amsterdam, not excepting himself.
“Well, well,” quoth mynheer, “_men weet niet hoe een koe een haas vangan kan_;” which means, “There is no saying that a cow won't catch a hare,” and so the matter was settled.
When the stranger retired to his room after supper, the old negro was accordingly stationed outside the door, with strict injunctions to keep himself awake, on pain of losing his Newyear present, and being shut up in the stable all Newyear's day. But it is recorded of Quashee, that the flesh was too strong for the spirit, though he had a noggin of genuine Holland to comfort him, and that he fell into a profound nap, which lasted till after sunrise next day, when he was found sitting bolt upright on a three-legged stool, with his little black stump of a pipe declining from the dexter corner of his mouth. Mynheer was exceeding wroth, and did accommodate old Quashee with such a hearty cuff on the side of his head, that he fell from the stool, and did incontinently roll down the stairs and so into the kitchen, where he was arrested by the great Dutch andirons. “_Een vervlockte jonge_,” exclaimed Mynheer Swighauser, “_men weet niet, hoe een dubbeltje rollen kan_”—in English, “There is no saying which way a sixpence will roll.”
At breakfast, the stranger was for the first time missing from his meals, and this excited no small wonder in the family, which was marvellously aggravated, when, after knocking some time and receiving no answer, the door was opened, and the stranger found wanting.
“_Is het mogelyk!_” exclaimed the yffrouw, and “_Wat blixen!_” cried mynheer. But their exclamations were speedily arrested by the arrival of the reverend schout, Master Roelif, as he was commonly called, who summoned them both forthwith to the Stadt Huys, at the command of his worship Alderman Schlepevalker.
“_Ben je bedonnered?_” cried mynheer; “what can his worship want of my wife now?”