“Dearest Max,” said Tine, “our dessert is very meagre. Couldn’t you . . . you know . . . Madame Geoffrin?”
“Tell you a little more, instead of sweetmeats? The deuce, I am hoarse. It’s Verbrugge’s turn.”
“Yes, Mr. Verbrugge! Do relieve Max for awhile,” begged Mrs. Havelaar.
Verbrugge thought a moment, and began:
“There once was a man who stole a turkey . . .”
“O, you wretch,” exclaimed Havelaar, “you’ve got that from Padang! And how does it go on?”
“That’s all. Who knows the end of the story?”
“Well, I! I ate it together with . . . someone. Do you know why I was suspended at Padang?”
“They said there was a deficit in your cash at Natal,” resumed Verbrugge.
“That was not altogether untrue, yet it was not true either. At Natal, owing to a number of causes, I had been very careless in my financial accounts, which were indeed open to many strictures. But that happened so often in those days! The conditions in the north of Sumatra were, shortly after the taking of Baroos, Tapoos, and Singkel, so confused, and everything was so unquiet, that no one could blame a young man, who preferred being on horseback to counting cash or keeping books, for the fact that things were not all so orderly and regular as one might have expected from an Amsterdam book-keeper who had nothing else to do. The Battah-lands were greatly disturbed, and you know, Verbrugge, how everything that takes place in the Battahs always reacts on Natal. I slept every night fully dressed to be quite ready for eventualities,
157
