“We might try some,” cried a voice; “yonder in that stand I see a decanter of bitters.”
A cheer followed this proposal—a servant was already busy pouring out the liqueur.
“What kind of bitters is that?”
“Maagdbitter,” said a sienjo.
“Pahit prawan,” translated an interpreter.
A thundering hurrah greeted that splendid attempt at translation.
“I say, Kees, you must be made interpreter—sworn interpreter!” shouted one of the bystanders.
“Here’s to you; I drink your health in pahit prawan!”
“One rixdollar!” cried Grenits.
“Three! Four! Five! Six! came the bids, in rapid succession. The auctioneer could not turn his head fast enough to catch the eye of the bidders.