“We should like to have it, sir.” Jan smiled, but the tone of his voice fell agreeably on Nicholas Snyders’ ear. Nicholas Snyders loved best beating the dog that, growled and showed its teeth.
“Better not wait for that,” said Nicholas Snyders. “You might have to wait long.”
Jan rose, an angry flush upon his face. “So nothing changes you, Nicholas Snyders. Have it your own way, then.”
“You will marry her in spite of me?”
“In spite of you and of your friends the fiends, and of your master the Devil!” flung out Jan. For Jan had a soul that was generous and brave and tender and excessively short-tempered. Even the best of souls have their failings.
“I am sorry,” said old Nicholas.
“I am glad to hear it,” answered Jan.
“I am sorry for your mother,” explained Nicholas. “The poor dame, I fear, will be homeless in her old age. The mortgage shall be foreclosed, Jan, on your wedding-day. I am sorry for your father, Jan. His creditors, Jan—you have overlooked just one. I am sorry for him, Jan. Prison has always been his dread. I am sorry even for you, my young friend. You will have to begin life over again. Burgomaster Allart is in the hollow of my hand. I have but to say the word, your ship is mine. I wish you joy of your bride, my young friend. You must love her very dearly—you will be paying a high price for her.”
It was Nicholas Snyders’ grin that maddened Jan. He sought for something that, thrown straight at the wicked mouth, should silence it, and by chance his hand lighted on the pedlar’s silver flask. In the same instance Nicholas Snyders’ hand had closed upon it also. The grin had died away.
“Sit down,” commanded Nicholas Snyders. “Let us talk further.” And there was that in his voice that compelled the younger man’s obedience.