“Have you secured the surf-boat itself?”
“Yes, Resident,” replied Meidema, “I did so; but, owing to some strange neglect for which I am unable to account, the watchman at the town jail, who had charge of the boat and with whom I had deposited it for safety, had broken up the boat and used the timber for firewood.”
A smile flitted over van Gulpendam’s features, as he muttered, inaudibly: “I have found the leak, I can caulk it,” and then, aloud, he said: “That’s a thousand pities—to whose negligence do you ascribe that?—But, never mind, we can look into that some other time. Now, Mr. Meidema, will you allow me to give you a piece of good advice?”
“Oh, Resident, you know, I am always most happy to receive good advice,” was the reply.
“Your finances,” continued van Gulpendam, “are not in the most flourishing condition, I think. Eh?”
“Resident!”
“You have a large family—and your expenses must be considerable. Well then, my advice to you is this: Try and arrange matters quietly with the opium farmer.”
“What do you mean, Resident?” cried Meidema, in utter amazement.
“You are shrewd enough, Mr. Meidema, to understand my drift. Lim Yang Bing is a wealthy man, and a kind, indulgent father. His son, you know, is on the eve of making an excellent match. He won’t be so very particular just now as to what he pays.”
“Resident!”