“Well,” said Laurentia, “what of that?—next year he will have to put down fifteen or eighteen hundred—there’s the end of it.”
“Of course,” growled the Resident, “it is easy enough to say there’s the end of it.”
“When is the contract to be renewed?” asked she.
“This September,” was the reply.
“Very good, then you leave it to me.”
“Yes, but—” objected van Gulpendam.
“Now, my dear,” said she, “pray, let us have no fuss, our dear Javanese friends will have to smoke a little more opium apiece—and—you will wear the bertes knabbeldat—what do you call the thing?”
“Virtus nobilitat” said van Gulpendam, with dignity.
“All right! the Virtus nobilitat, you will wear it in your button hole, but—it will be my doing.”
“How so?” asked the husband, in surprise.