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IV

The eventful day at last arrived. Stebbins, as prearranged, had begged the exile to telegraph the exact hour of his departure and mode of travel from Rotterdam, suggesting the boat as being by far the best, and Joplin had answered in return that Fop Smit’s packet, due at sundown the following day, would count him among its passengers.

The deep tones of the whistle off Papendrecht sent every man to his post, the villagers standing back in amazement at the extraordinary spectacle, especially at Tine and Johann in their queer clothes, who, being instantly recognized, were plied with questions.

The boat slowed down; made fast; out came the gangplank; ashore went the little two-wheel carts drawn by the sleepy, tired dogs; then the baskets of onions were rolled off, and the few barrels of freight, and then two or three passengers–among them a small, feeble man, in a long coat reaching to his heels–made their way to the dock.

NO JOPPY!!

“That’s the last man to come ashore here,” said Marny. “What’s become of the lad?”

“Maybe he’s gone aft,” cried Stebbins; “maybe–“

Here Tine gave a little scream, dropped her wreath and running toward the small, feeble man, threw her arms around his neck. Marny and the others bounded over the cobbles, tossing the bystanders out of the way as they forged ahead. When they reached Joplin he was still clinging to Tine, his sunken cheeks and hollow deep-set eyes telling only too plainly how great an effort he was making to keep on his legs. The four painters formed a close bodyguard and escorted their long-lost brother to the inn.

Mynheer, in his burgomaster suit, met the party at the door, conducted them inside and silently drew out the chairs at the coffee-room table. He was too overcome to speak.

Joplin dropped into the one hung with ivy and rested his hands on the table.

“Lord! how good it is to get here!” he said, gazing about him, a tremble in his voice. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through, boys.”

“Why, we thought you were getting fat, Joppy,” burst out Marny at last. Up to this time his voice, like that of the others, seemed to have left him, so great was his surprise and anxiety.

Joplin waved his forefinger toward Marny in a deprecatory way, as if the memory of his experience was too serious for discussion, played with his fork a moment, and said slowly:

“Will you lay it up against me, fellows, if I tell you the truth? I’m not as strong as I was and a good deal of the old fight is out of me.”

“Lay up nothin’!” cried Malone. “And when it comes to fightin’ ye kin count on me every–“

“Dry up!” broke in Marny. “You’re way off, Malone. No, Joppy, not a man here will open his head: say the rest.”

“Well, then, listen,” continued the Bostonian. “I did everything they told me: got up at daylight; walked around the spring seven times; sipped the water; ate what they prescribed; lay in wet sheets two hours every day; was kneaded by a man with a chest as hairy as a satyr’s and arms like a blacksmith’s; stood up and was squirted at; had everything about me looked into–even stuck needles in my arm for a sample of my blood; and at the end of three weeks was so thin that my trousers had to be lapped over in the back under a leather strap to keep them above my hips, and my coat hung down as if it were ashamed of me. Doctor Stuffen then handed me a certificate and his bill. This done he stood me up and repeated this formula–has it printed–all languages:

“‘You have now thrown from your system every particle of foul tissues, Mr.–, ah, yes–Mr. Joblin, I believe.’ And he looked at the paper. ‘You thought you were reasonably fat, Mr. Joblin. You were not fat, you were merely bloated. Go now to Stuckbad for two weeks. There you will take the after-cure; keep strictly to the diet, a list of which I now hand you. At the expiration of that time you will be a strong man. Thank you–my secretary will send you a receipt.’

“Well, I went to Stuckbad–crawled really–put up at the hotel and sent for the resident doctor, Professor Ozzenbach, Member of the Board of Pharmacy of Berlin, Specialist on Nutrition, Fellow of the Royal Society of Bacteriologists, President of the Vienna Association of Physiological Research–that kind of man. He looked me all over and shook his head. He spoke broken English–badly.

“‘Who has dreated you, may I ask, Meester Boblin?’

“‘Doctor Stuffen, at Fizzenbad.’

“‘Ah, yes, a fery goot man, but a leedle de times behindt. Vat did you eat?’

“I handed him the list.

“‘No vonder dot you are thin, my frent–yoost as I oxpected–dis ees de olt deory of broteids. Dot is all oxbloded now. Eef you haf stay anuder mont you vould be dead. Everyting dot he has dold you vas yoost de udder way; no bread, no meelk, no vegebubbles–noddings of dis, not von leedle bit. I vill make von leest–come to-morrow.'”

“Did you go, Joppy?” inquired Stebbins.

“DID I GO? Yes, back to the depot and on to Cologne. That night I ate two plates of sauerkraut, a slice of pork and a piece of cheese the size of my hand; slept like a top.”

“So the proteids and carbohydrates didn’t do your epigastric any good, old chap,” remarked Pudfut in an effort to relieve the gloom.

“Proteids, carbohydrates and my epigastric be damned,” exploded Joplin. “On your feet, boys, all of you. Here’s to the food of our fathers, with every man a full plate. And here’s to dear old Marny, the human kangaroo. May his appetite never fail and his paunch never shrink!”