Nay, he even went so far in one of his
rough jocular moods, as to slap that mighty burgher on the back, drink
his toddy and wink in his face, a thing scarcely to be believed. From
this time Ramm Rapelye appeared no more at the inn; his example was
followed by several of the most eminent customers, who were too rich to
tolerate being bullied out of their opinions, or being obliged to laugh
at another man's jokes. The landlord was almost in despair, but he knew
not how to get rid of this sea monster and his sea-chest, which seemed
to have grown like fixtures, or excrescences on his establishment.
Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wolfert's ear, by the
narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held him by the button in a corner of the
hall, casting a wary glance now and then towards the door of the
bar-room, lest he should be overheard by the terrible hero of his tale.
Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room in silence;
impressed with profound awe of this unknown, so versed in freebooting
history. It was to him a wonderful instance of the revolutions of
mighty empires, to find the venerable Ramm Rapelye thus ousted from the
throne; a rugged tarpaulin dictating from his elbow chair, hectoring
the patriarchs, and filling this tranquil little realm with brawl and
bravado.
