He took his seat, looking very severely, but on a sudden his face collapsed, and he burst into a fit of laughter.
“Ye Gods, what a voice!” he cried. “He is improvising, and pretty cleverly too. He is asking in Dutch for his dinner, rhyming as he goes along and shouting his fancies to a Dutch air. Yet shall he get no beef, though he should sing till his windpipe splits. I am getting mighty sick of this business. What of the sail?”
“We are rising her fairly fast and she’s heading our way. The wind is taking off and I don’t think we shall be abreast much before another hour.”
Van Laar ceased to sing.
“Is Jimmy an idiot?” said I, when the lad’s back was turned.
“Not at all. He is a very honest lad, with the strength of two mules in his limbs. He has sailed with me before. I have carried him on this voyage because of his foolishness. I did not want too much forecastle intelligence to be dodging about my table.”
“Hark!” said I, “Van Laar is calling.”
“Captain,” roared the voice of the Dutchman, in syllables perfectly distinct, though dulled by the bulkhead which his lungs had to penetrate, “vhas I to hov any dinner? Dis vhas Mynheer Tulp’s ship. I vhas sorry for you if you starf me.”
Jimmy returned.
“When did Mr. Van Laar breakfast?” said Greaves to him.