“It’s imponderable, Max, like your women of Arles . . . ought to be! I have no omelette . . . I have nothing more!”
“Then for heaven’s sake the story,” sighed Duclari in comical despair.
“But we have coffee,” said Tine.
“Good! we’ll take coffee in the front veranda, and let’s call Mrs. Slotering and the girls to join us,” said Havelaar, and the little company went outside.
“I expect she’ll ask to be excused, Max! you know too that she would rather not have her meals with us, and I cannot blame her.”
“She has probably heard that I tell stories,” said Havelaar, “and that has frightened her off.”
“Oh, no, Max, that wouldn’t hurt her; she doesn’t understand Dutch. No, she has told me that she wants to go on with her own household, and I quite understand that. Do you remember how you once translated my initials?”
“E.H.V.W. Eigen haard veel waard.”[1]
“So then! She is quite right. Besides, it appears to me that she is a bit shy of strangers. Just imagine, she has all strange people that come into her grounds driven off by the caretakers.”
“I ask for the story or the omelette,” said Duclari.
“And so do I!” exclaimed Verbrugge. “Excuses not accepted. We have a right to a complete meal, and so I demand this story of the turkey.”
“I have already given it you,” said Havelaar. “I had stolen the animal from General Vandamme, and I ate it . . . with someone.”
“Before this ‘someone’ was taken up to heaven,” said Tine archly.
“No, that is cheating,” called Duclari. “We must know why you . . . stole that turkey.”
“Why! because I was in want, and that was the fault of General Vandamme, who had suspended me.”
- ↑ Own hearth great worth (One’s own hearth is worth a good deal).
