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A Dutch boy smell a cheese! You can never make me believe THAT!" "Vell, it ish no matter," replied Jacob, trudging on beside Ben in perfect good humor. "Vait till you hit mit cheese dat ish all." Soon he added pathetically, "Penchamin, I no likes to be call Tuch dat ish no goot. I bees a Hollander." Just as Ben was apologizing, Lambert hailed him. "Hold up! Ben, here is the fish market.
Possibly he was scant of breath at the time. "Now, Penchamin, vat you do mit yourself? Get so hot as a fire brick dat ish no goot," was Jacob's plaintive comment. "Nonsense!" answered Ben. "This frosty air will cool me soon enough. I am not tired." "You are beaten, though, my boy," said Lambert in English, "and fairly too. How will it be, I wonder, on the day of the grand race?"
If the truth must be told, Jacob had announced his cousin as Penchamin Dopps, and called his a Shon Pull, but as I translate every word of the conversation of our young friends, it is no more than fair to mend their little attempts at English. Master Dobbs felt at first decidedly awkward among his cousin's friends.
I know he defended the city like a brick, and " "Now vot for you shay dat, Penchamin? He no defend te city mit breek, he fight like goot soltyer mit his guns. You like make te fun mit effrysinks Tutch." "No! No! No! I said he defended the city LIKE a brick. That is very high praise, I would have you understand. We English call even the Duke of Wellington a brick."
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