“Mintah ampong,[1] Sir, I looked at his head because you had spoken.”
“Well, what the deuce had his head got to do with that? I have already forgotten what I said.”
“Sir, I said to the Klewoon . . .”
Tine moved nearer: they were talking about little Max.
“Sir, I said to the Klewoon that the Seenyo[2] was a king’s child.”
This pleased Tine: she thought so too!
The Adhipatti examined the head of the boy, and, to be sure, he also saw on its crown the double hair-twist which, according to Javanese superstition, is intended to wear a crown.
As etiquette did not permit of offering the Djaksa a seat in the presence of the Regent, the former took leave, and for a little while everyone conversed without touching upon anything that referred to the “service.” But all at once—and therefore contrary to the national customs, which are so excessively courteous—the Regent asked whether certain moneys which were owing to the Tax Collector could not be paid.
“Certainly not,” exclaimed Verbrugge, “the Adhipatti knows that this may not be done before his accounts are approved.”
Havelaar was playing with Max. But it became apparent that this did not prevent him reading on the face of the Regent that Verbrugge’s answer did not please him.
“Come on, Verbrugge, we won’t be disagreeable,” he said. And he sent for a clerk from the office. “We may as well pay this . . . the accounts will no doubt be approved.”
When the Adhipatti was gone, Verbrugge, who was greatly interested in the Gazettes, said:
“Surely, Mr. Havelaar, this is not permitted! The accounts of the collector are still at Serang for examination . . . suppose there 1s something wrong with them?”
“Then I shall make it good,” said Havelaar.
Verbrugge could not for the life of him understand the reason for
