"What are they?" inquired Kéraban, frowning. "If they are good, I will adopt them; if bad, I decline."
"I know an excellent way," said Van Mitten.
"Speak quickly. We have to make all our preparations yet. We have not a minute to lose!"
"This is my idea," said Van Mitten. "Let us go to one of the nearest ports and cross to Scutari by steamer."
"By steamer! Use a steamboat!" exclaimed Kéraban, raised to "boiling point" at once by the very mention of steam.
"Very well, then, by a sailing vessel, a zebec, a felucca, a skiff—anything you please: starting from one of the Anatolian ports, Kirpih, for instance. Thence we could reach Scutari in a day, and drink the health of the Muchir on our arrival!"
Seigneur Kéraban had permitted his friend to continue without interruption. Perhaps he was already inclined to adopt Van Mitten's suggestion, which promised a solution of the difficulty, and at the same time saved his own pride and amour propre. But after a while his eyes kindled, his fingers clenched and unclenched, and at length his fists, tightly closed, indicated a by no means reassuring temper to Nizib, who knew the signs.
"So, Van Mitten, you counsel me to embark upon the Black Sea to avoid crossing the Bosphorus? That is what your suggestion comes to."
"That would be the best plan, I think," replied Van Mitten.
"Have you ever heard any mention of a certain malady called sea-sickness?" inquired Kéraban quickly.
"Of course I have," replied the Dutchman.
"And you have never experienced it?"
"Never. Besides, the transit is such a short one—"
"So short!" exclaimed Kéraban. "And may I inquire what you call 'so short?'"
"Scarcely sixty leagues, I imagine."
"Well, it does not matter whether it be only fifty, or twenty, or ten, or only five," exclaimed Kéraban, who always became excited when contradicted or opposed. "If it were only two leagues, they would be too long for me!"
