"Here's to his goot healt, den," said a fat Dutch captain, who sat on the hearth, strumming a fiddle to tune it.
And while the others laughed and drank, a little deformed dwarf in a corner with an accordion between his twisted fingers began to play and sing.
"This is the last thing that should have happened," thought Jason, and with many excuses he tried to elbow his way out. But the tipsy comrade held him while he rattled on:
"Been away—foreign, eh? Married since? No? Then the girls of old Iceland are best, eh? What? Yes? And old Iceland's the fairest land the sun shines upon, eh? No? But, Lord bless me, what a mess you made of it by going away just when you did!"
At that Jason, while pushing his way through, turned about with a look of inquiry.
"Didn't know it? What? That after the mother died old Jorgen went about looking for you? No? Wanted? Why, to make a man of you, boy. Make you his son and the like of that, and not too soon either. And when he couldn't find you he took up with this Michael Sunlocks."
"Michael Sunlocks?" Jason repeated, in a distant sort of voice.
"Just so; this precious new Governor that wants to put down all the drinking."
"The new Governor?"
"Yes. Put your nose out, boy; for that was the start of his luck."