"You vant him, hey? Vell, I tell. Fifdy dollars, you bed your life!"
The blood leaped in his veins. He had expected to hear a hundred at
least. Still, fifty was a difficult enough sum. He hesitated.
"Er--what's his name?"
"Naboleon."
"_What?_" He could not believe this thing.
"Naboleon. It comes in his bedigree when I giddim. You bed your life I
gif him nod such names--robber, killer, Frenchman!"
Bean felt assaulted.
"He was a fighter?"
"Yah, fider--a killer unt a sdealer. You know what?"--his face lightened
a little with garrulity--"my granmutter she seen him, yah, sure she seen
him, seddin' on his horse when he gone ridin' into Utrecht in eighdeen
hunderd fife, with soljus. Sure she seen him; she loogs outer a winda'
so she could touch him if she been glose to him, unt a soljus rides oop
unt says, 'Ve gamp right here, not?' unt Naboleon he shneer awful unt
say, 'Gamp here vere dey go inter dem cellus from der ganal-side unt get
unter us unt blow us high wit bowder--you sheep's head! No; we gamp back
in der Malibaan vere is old linden drees hunderd years old, eighd rows
vun mile long, dere is vere we gamp, you gread fool!' Sure my granmutter
seen him. He pull his nose mit t'um unt finger, so! Muddy boods, vun
glofe off, seddin' oop sdraighd on a horse. Sure, she seen him. Robber
unt big killer-sdealer! She vas olt lady, but she remember it lige it
was to-morrow.
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