The general's chest swelled and his chin perked up jauntily.
"I am not so old as you think, your excellency," he retorted with a trace of asperity.
"Neen, neen, generaal," the governor negatived, "I cannot let you go—not for your own good name's sake. The gossips of Amsterdam and The Hague would have a rare scandal to prate about if it became whispered around that Gysbert Vanden Bosch was scouring the jungles of Bulungan for a witch-woman with a face and form like Helen of Troy's."
The general flushed. His peccadillos had followed him to Java, and he did not like to be reminded of them.
"The argus pheasant is too shy a bird to come within gunshot, your excellency," he replied somberly. "It must be trapped."
"Ay, and so must she," the governor assented. "That is how she got her name. But you are too seasoned for bait, my dear generaal." He chuckled.
Vanden Bosch was too much impressed with his own importance to enjoy being chaffed. Ignoring the thrust, he observed dryly:
"Your excellency might try King Saul's plan."
"Ha!" the governor exclaimed with interest. "What is that?"
Van Schouten prided himself on his knowledge of the Scriptures, and the general could not repress a little smirk of triumph at catching him napping.