"True," said Raff, nodding his head, "the vrouw always hits upon the right thing. It would be well to see the young English gentleman, mynheer, before he forgets all about Thomas Higgs--it's a slippery name, d'ye see?--one can't hold it safe a minute. It come upon me sudden and strong as a pile-driver, and my boy writ it down. Aye, mynheer, I'd haste to talk with the English lad; he's seen your son many a time--only to think on't!" Dame Brinker took up the thread of the discourse. "You'll pick out the lad quick enough, mynheer, because he's in company with Master Peter van Holp; and his hair curls all up over his forehead like foreign folk's, and, if you hear him speak, he talks kind of big and fast, only it's English; but that wouldn't be any hindrance to your honor." The doctor had already lifted his hat to go. With a beaming face, he muttered something about its being just like the young scamp to give himself a rascally English name; called Hans "my son"--thereby making that young gentleman happy as a lord--and left the cottage with very little ceremony, considering what a great meester he was. * * * * * The grumbling coachman comforted himself by speaking his mind, as he drove back to Amsterdam. Since the doctor was safely stowed away in the coach, and could not hear a word, it was a fine time to say terrible things of folks who hadn't no manner of feeling for nobody, and who were always wanting the horses a dozen times of a night. XLVI MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF THOMAS HIGGS Higgs' factory was a mine of delight for the gossips of Birmingham. It was a small building, but quite large enough to hold a mystery. Who the proprietor was, or where he came from, none could tell. He looked like a gentleman--that was certain--though everybody knew he had risen from an apprenticeship; and he could handle his pen like a writing-master. Years ago he had suddenly appeared in the place a lad of eighteen--learned his trade faithfully, and risen in the confidence of his employer--been taken in as a partner soon after his time was up--and, finally, when old Willett died, had assumed the business on his own hands. This was all that was known of his affairs. It was a common remark among some of the good people that he never had a word to say to a Christian soul; while others declared that though he spoke beautiful, when he chose to, there was something wrong in his accent. A tidy man, too, they called him, all but for having that scandalous green pond alongside of his factory, which wasn't deep enough for an eel, and was "just a fever-nest, as sure as you live."