“I do not know what sort of a sailor he is,” said I, “but a more insulting son of a swab I never met in my life.” “Dere’s a ship dot may take him,” said Bol, leveling a hand as big as a shovel at the sea. “Mr. Bol, please to keep your eye upon her while I am below,” said I; “one needs to be wary in these waters.” “Let me look at her,” said he, and he fetched the glass. “Dere vhas noting for dis brig to be afraid of in _her_,” said he, after a slow Dutch gaze and ruminating pause; “it vhas not all right, I belief, but vhat vhas wrong mit her vhas right for us.” Jimmy passed with the cabin dinner from the galley. A minute later he arrived to report it served. I went below, and was about to sit down when I suddenly exclaimed: “Hark, what is that?” “Van Laar singing,” said Greaves. He took his seat, looking very severely, but on a sudden his face collapsed, and he burst into a fit of laughter. “Ye Gods, what a voice!” he cried. “He is improvising, and pretty cleverly too. He is asking in Dutch for his dinner, _rhyming_ as he goes along and shouting his fancies to a Dutch air. Yet shall he get no beef, though he should sing till his windpipe splits. I am getting mighty sick of this business. What of the sail?” “We are rising her fairly fast and she’s heading our way. The wind is taking off and I don’t think we shall be abreast much before another hour.” Van Laar ceased to sing. “Is Jimmy an idiot?” said I, when the lad’s back was turned. “Not at all. He is a very honest lad, with the strength of two mules in his limbs. He has sailed with me before. I have carried him on this voyage because of his foolishness. I did not want too much forecastle intelligence to be dodging about my table.” “Hark!” said I, “Van Laar is calling.” “Captain,” roared the voice of the Dutchman, in syllables perfectly distinct, though dulled by the bulkhead which his lungs had to penetrate, “vhas I to hov any dinner? Dis vhas Mynheer Tulp’s ship. I vhas sorry for you if you starf me.” Jimmy returned. “When did Mr. Van Laar breakfast?” said Greaves to him. The youth looked up at the clock in the skylight, and answered instantly: “At one bell, master,” meaning half-past eight. “What did he have?” “A trayful, master,” and I noticed that the boy talked with his eyes fixed on Galloon, while the dog looked up at him as though ready to howl presently. “But what did he have?” “He had coffee, mutton chops, sights of biscuits, a tin of preserved pork, more biscuit, master, ay, and fried bacon--twice he sent me to the galley for fried bacon, and he was eating from one bell till hard upon fower.” “There are no mutton chops on board this ship,” said Greaves, “and as to tins of preserved pork--but you will guess,” said he, looking at me, “that the hog’s trough was liberally brimmed; and still the beast grunts. Listen!”