They entered the cabin. In a few minutes I heard a confused noise of voices. Van Laar’s tones were distinguishable, but I could not collect what he said. Bol came under the skylight and asked me to send down a couple of hands to bring up Van Laar’s chest. Presently Van Laar cried out, “Dis vhas Mynheer Tulp’s schip, and you vhas kicking me out of her.”
“You leave at your own request,” I heard Greaves say.
“Dot vhas valse,” shouted the Dutchman. “But you are a whole ship’s gompany to von man. Yet vill I have der bed from oonder you und your vife.”
“Now step on deck, if you please.”
“Dere law——” but the rest was lost to my ear by the Dutchman getting into the companion way. He emerged, looking very pale, greasy, even fatter than he had before shown; scowled when he met my glance, stared around him with the bewilderment of a newly-released man, and called out, “Vere is der schip?” He saw her as he spoke, shaded his eyes while he looked at her, and, falling back a step, exclaimed, “I vhas not going home in dot schip.”
“That is the ship, and you are going home in her,” said Greaves. “The boat is alongside, and Mr. Fielding waits for you to jump in.”
“You vhas sorry for dis by an’ by. Do you inten’ dot I should drown by your sending me to dot footy hooker? Who has been on boardt her?” he shouted, looking around him with a frown; “you, sir?” cried he to me. “Vot vhos dot oonder her taffrail? I must know vot dot vhas before I stir!”
“It’s nothing that will hurt you,” answered Greaves, who, as I might see, dared not meet my gaze for fear of laughing.
“Vhat vhas it, I ask? I hov a right to know;” and here the poor fat fellow, for whom I was beginning to feel a sort of pity, made spectacles of his thumbs and forefingers, and put them to his eyes to stare at the cask and repeated, “Vhat vhas it? Sir, oblige me by handing me dere glass.”
“Mr. Van Laar,” said Greaves, “I should regret to use force, but if you don’t instantly get into that boat I shall have you lifted over the side and dropped into her.”