"If Peter Gross knew the archipelago half so well as his good friend Sachsen he would be a lucky man," Peter Gross retorted spiritedly.
Sachsen's face became suddenly grave.
"We do not doubt your knowledge of conditions in our unhappy province, Vrind Pieter. Nor do we doubt your ability, your courage, or your sound judgment. But, Pieter—"
He paused. The clear gray eyes of Peter Gross met his questioningly.
"—You are young, Vrind Pieter."
The governor rose abruptly and plucked down from the wall a long-stemmed Dutch pipe that was suspended by a gaily colored cord from a stout peg. He filled the big china bowl of the pipe with nearly a half-pound of tobacco, touched a light to the weed, and returned to his chair. There was a pregnant silence in the room meanwhile.
"How old are you, Vrind Pieter?" Sachsen asked gently.
"Twenty-five, mynheer," Peter Gross replied. There was a pronounced emphasis on the "mynheer."
"Twenty-five," Sachsen murmured fondly. "Twenty-five! Just my age when I was a student at Leyden and the gayest young scamp of them all." He shook his head. "Twenty-five is very young, Vrind Pieter."
"That is a misfortune which only time can remedy," Peter Gross replied drily.