Ramsay sat, and felt a free and easy sense of comradeship, as though he
and the Dutch fisherman had something in common. They felt alike and
thought alike. Hans Van Doorst had thanked Ramsay with his eyes for
rescuing him, but not once had he spoken of it and not once had he
mentioned the wreck of the _Spray_. The boy was grateful for that; he
knew that he would be embarrassed if his part in yesterday's incident
were brought into the limelight.
Marta busied herself at the big wood-burning stove, and Ramsay
speculated on the difficulties involved in just getting such a stove
into this country. Marta laughed. "While I make you the breakfast, you
listen to the crazy tales the crazy fisherman tells you."
Hans turned his twinkling eyes on Ramsay. "Marta is a good girl," he
said. "A good Dutch girl. She thinks all men are crazy."
"They all are," Marta said. "Especially you. What you need is a good
farm and stay away from that wild lake."
"Farms and me wouldn't get along, Marta." Hans laughed. "I told you I'm
a fisherman."
"Yaah? You lost everything with the _Spray_. How are you going to go
fishing again?"
Hans spread his two powerful hands. "These are what I had when I
started. These are what I have now."
"You need money, too. Money for nets, money for ..."
The door opened and Pieter came in for breakfast. Hanging his light
jacket on a wooden peg in the hallway, he took his seat at the table.
"Why does Hans need so much money?" he asked.
"He says he's going fishing again." Marta sniffed. "I've been telling
him that he should get a farm, and we can put him up until he gets one,
and ..."
"Are you really going fishing?" Pieter broke in.
"That I am. I'm a fisherman. Now look, Pieter, you get up at dawn to
milk your cows. No? To be sure, you get all the milk you can drink; but
if you're lucky, Tradin' Jack Hammersly gives you maybe half of what
your butter's worth. All winter long and all summer long you work for
those cows. A fisherman, now, he works for four months, just
four. . . ."