“How many cases of dollars might der be, Mr. Fielding?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked as if he did not believe me, and said, “Vell, der more, der better for Mynheer Tulp und oders.” He paused upon this word, oders. I gazed at the island. “Der more der better, certainly,” continued he, “yet dey vhas not so plentiful but dot efery dollar might be shipped before dark. Tell me dey vhas plentiful some more dan dot, and, by Cott, Mr. Fielding, der crew’s share vhas as a flea upon der dog dot scratch her.”
“My name is Fielding, not Greaves, Yan Bol,” said I.
“Oh, yaw, dot vhas right. But I likes to tink aloud sometimes, Mr. Fielding.”
“Are not you satisfied?” cried I, suddenly rounding upon him and looking him full in the face.
“Perfectly satisfied, Mr. Fielding.”
“Then why, by that devil who always seems to be busy in ship’s forecastles, come you to me now with your growlings and your questions and your dots, and your Cotts and your dollars, Yan Bol.”
“Growlings—questions! I likes to know vhen we get der dollars on board und make sail, dot vhas all.”
“Strike a light with your eyes and keep a lookout for yourself, and hail the fore royal yard, will ye, and receive the man’s report.”