“Zealous,” drawled the Resident behind.
“True, but there are limits,” Havelaar had to repeat, as if by way of eating his previous words. “If you approve, Resident, we’ll make room in the carriage. The baboo can stay here, and we’ll send a palanquin for her from Rangkas-Betoong. My wife will take Max in her lap . . . won’t you, Tine? And so there will be enough room.”
“I. Have. No. . . .”
“Verbrugge, we’ll give you a passage also; I don’t see . . .”
“Objection!” said the Resident.
“I don’t see why you should slush through the mud on horseback . . . there is room enough for all of us. In this way we can at once make each other’s acquaintance. What say you, Tine, we’ll manage perfectly, shan’t we? Here, Max . . . look, Verbrugge, isn’t he a fine little man! That’s my young son . . . that’s Max!”
The Resident had seated himself in the pendoppo with the Adhipatti. Havelaar called Verbrugge, whom he wished to ask whose was the piebald with the red saddle-cloth. But when Verbrugge went to the entrance of the pendoppo, to see which horse he meant, Havelaar laid his hand on the Controller’s shoulder, and asked:
“Is the Regent always so dutiful?”
“He is a stalwart man for his years, Mr. Havelaar, and you will understand that he naturally wants to make a good impression on you.”
“Yes, I understand. I have heard much good of him . . . he is refined, isn’t he?”
“Oh yes. . . .”
“And he has a large family?”
Verbrugge looked at Havelaar as if he did not understand this transition. And this, indeed, was often difficult for those who did not know Havelaar. The alertness of his mind often made him drop some links of the chain of reasoning in a conversation, and though this transition was quite gradual in his thoughts, it surely
