Chapter XXVIIWalter shuddered as he crossed Juffrouw Laps’s threshold. He reflected, and wondered how he could have entered upon this knightly expedition without considering certain details connected with it and inseparable from it.The first thing she offered him, of course, was the fried potatoes, that dainty dish which the murderers had greedily madeawaywith!Walter was beginning to feel that the game wasn’t worth the candle. The adventure didn’t offer sufficient outlet for his chivalry. In fact, he thought something other than chivalry was necessary to face single-handed and alone those fried potatoes and Juffrouw Laps’s persistent attentions.“Make yourself at home and eat all you want. Don’t be a bit embarrassed. Or would you rather take off your coat first? You know, you’re to stay all night with me.”Walter preferred to keep on his coat for the present.“And I have a dram for you, too, my boy—something extra. It’s from Fockink’s. You know where he has his distillery, there in that narrow street. You must never pass along there. Bad women live in that street. They stand at the doors and windows, don’t you know; and that isn’t good for a bachelor like you.”Walter, the “bachelor,” looked surprised. He was abashed; though he was not displeased. This promotion was more flattering than going into “business.”Still, he was embarrassed. Juffrouw Laps found it desirable, therefore, to continue along this line.“Certainly, Walter, you’re a bachelor. Don’t you know that? It’s only because at home they treat you like a child. I tell you, you’re a bachelor, just as much so as anybody else. Do you think I like Stoffel as well as I do you? No, no, no! Not a bit of it! I like you lots better. Don’t you want a pipe to smoke? You are man enough for that. Of course you are; and why shouldn’t you smoke a pipe like other men?”Men, men!Walter answered that he couldn’t smoke yet. It cost him an effort to make the admission; but his first attempt to equal Stoffel in that respect had turned out badly.“So? You don’t smoke?” She omitted his “yet.”“Well, it’s a good thing. It’s a stupid habit in men. And forever the terrible smoke! I know other young gentlemen who do not smoke. For instance, there is Piet Hammel. He’s as old as you, but a little smaller. He’s going to marry a cousin of mine; and he doesn’t smoke either.”Walter felt better now. He was interested.“Yes, they’re going to get married about—well, I don’t know exactly when. But they intend to marry. I tell you, you are a real bachelor; and it’s awfully stupid of them still to treat you like a child. I’ve told your mother so a hundred times. There on the streetjust now, when we were together—I’m a delicate woman; but do you think I was afraid?—with you with me? Not a bit. Not a trace of fear. And why? Because everybody could see that I had a man with me. I ought to have taken hold of your arm—you’re almost taller than I am—but I didn’t do it because you had a package. And then—the people talk so much! The watchman might have seen it, and he would have spread the news broadcast that I had been seen at night with a gentleman.”With a gentleman! Walter was listening.“A woman must always think of her reputation. But we’re here at home now, and that’s very different, entirely different. I know that of course you wouldn’t tell anything bad about me. Whoever tells anything bad on a woman isn’t a true gentleman. You know that.”Yes, Walter knew it. He understood Juffrouw Laps better than she imagined.“What I wanted to say was, you must never go through that street. So long as you were a child, it made no difference. But now! Let me fill your glass for you.”Walter drank.O Fancy, my muse, where art thou?“How do you like it?”Walter owned that the liquor had a pleasant taste.Satan’s handmaid filled the glasses again. They were “so small,” really “mere thimbles.”“And you must eat something, dearest. Oh, I have always thought so much of you! It’s good for you to have a little dram like that.”Walter began to eat.“Just take off your coat; there’s nobody here but us.”Quite so. Walter did take off his coat.“And I’m going to sit close to you, for you are a dear, good, sweet boy.”Fancy, Fancy!The liquor was strong, and Walter drank more of it than was good for him. He lost some of his modesty, and hardly knew what he was saying to the talkative Juffrouw, as she asked questions from time to time. She was not quite satisfied with the way things were going, but hoped for the best.Occasionally Walter found time to wonder why he was there, what the purpose of the enforced visit might be. His hostess seemed to have forgotten all about those thieves and murderers; and when he reminded her of them, she showed a spirit of valor that did him good. For he and his valor were undone.“I will do them! Do you think I’m afraid of such a fellow? Well, I guess not. Not afraid of three of them. I wouldn’t be afraid of ten of them—I’m not afraid of the whole world. I will do them.”All the better, thought Walter; for then he wouldn’t have to “do” them.They now heard something rustling around in the closet, or else they imagined they heard something. Walter was frightened. He was a perfect child again.“Stay here, and I will see what it is,” cried the Juffrouw. “Do you think I would let them beat you, or stab you, or murder you, my boy! Never! Whoevertouches you will have to walk over me. But I will give them all they need.”She went out, taking the light with her, to see what was the matter—if anything. She was careful to leave Walter in the dark long enough for him to wish for her return. The tables were being turned. A little more, and the boy would seek protection under her apron.“But, Juffrouw——”“I will let you call me Christine. That’s my name.”This was too much for Walter. He preferred to avoid addressing her directly.“But hadn’t I better go home now?”“Not at all. You don’t want to leave me, do you? You know your mother is in bed asleep now. Besides, it was understood that you were to spend the night here and take breakfast with me.”Breakfast! The boy hadn’t been doing anything else for an hour. Was that to continue till morning?“I’ll tell you what! Just undress yourself; and you needn’t be a bit ashamed before me. I will make down a pallet for you there in the corner. When I’m here alone—just a woman—with all the thieves and robbers—oh, it’s so horrible!”Walter did not dare to say no; nor did he dare to do what was proposed so enticingly. He hesitated.She talked sweetly and persuaded him.He began to——The child was as if hypnotized.O Fancy, Fancy! Where art thou?Chapter XXVIIIIt will be remembered that on this significant Friday a boat-race had been arranged for the amusement of the visiting princes and princesses. It had to be called off on account of a disinclination on the side of the wind to fill its part of the program, or rather, to fill the sails. For it was to have been a “sail.” Rowing was not in style then; it was not considered dignified and manly. Besides, the boats were not built to be propelled in this way.The boat-race had been canceled; but the crowd remained, and continued to discharge its enthusiasm for royalty till a late hour. It was a great day; and the populace perspired and shouted and howled.It was so hot that kings and princesses perspired like ordinary mortals. They flourished fans indolently. At that time there was a special kind of fan: “joujoux de Normandie.”It was observed that the old countess-palatine manipulated her fan more elegantly than anyone else. No doubt it was through this “gentle art” that she exerted her greatest influence on humanity.Gradually the carriages of the distinguished guests disappeared, and the knightly horsemen tired of the saddle. The day drew to a close. The populace pushed and crowded and sang and hurrahed and drank. Fireworks were discharged, to express, sothe newspapers said, the inexpressible love of the people for princes and princesses.Oh, those firecrackers, and the danger in them! Quick, quick—throw it—a second longer and it will burst in your hand—hurrah!It was magnificent—the danger and thrilling anxiety. There was a tradition that somebody had once held a firecracker in his hand too long and had been badly hurt by it. This traditional “somebody” was now inspiring the revelers with fresh enthusiasm.So it was on that evening, before the city authorities had prohibited the use of fireworks. After the houses had been covered with slate, it was thought that there was too much danger of fire in firecrackers, but on that evening, when the houses still had thatch roofs, the dangerous pleasure of Amsterdam youth was unrestrained.And the other dangerous pleasures! How many lasses went home with their skirts singed, some of them hardly getting home at all. Interesting adventures! And a boy—“those boys have to have their noses in everything”—yes, a youth came very near getting a load in his face. Thrilling delight!The crowd was now in the street where Juffrouw Laps resided. The reader will recall that Walter was spending the night with her.Boom! went a gun, or a cannon-cracker; and Walter awoke just as his affectionate hostess and religious adviser was going to give him a kiss.Juffrouw Laps had burned her sinful lips. “Lord have mercy on us, what is that!” she cried.Both ran to the open window. Ordinarily a respectable Hollandish girl never leaves her window open at night; but the extreme heat of the evening must be urged in Juffrouw Laps’s favor.It was clear to them at once that they had not been fired upon by those “murderers,” for nobody paid any attention to them or showed any interest in them. Other windows were open, as well; and on all sides people were looking out. Right and left a cannonade of firecrackers was going on.In the interest of privacy Juffrouw Laps took the precaution to blow out the light as quickly as possible. Another might have neglected this.Walter looked down on it all with the delight of a child. He forgot the insistent kindness of his hostess; he thought of nothing but the crowd below and their antics. The noise and tumult sobered him; and it even had a quieting effect on Juffrouw Laps.“How foolish the people are. They push one another hither and thither and don’t know themselves why they do it.”“Click, click!” answered an enthusiast with a gun. He was in the midst of a bevy of girls, who scattered in an uproar.“They’re all drunk,” said Juffrouw Laps. “I wish they would go home. I’m tired—and it’s two o’clock.”“Just a little more!” begged Walter. “I’m not tired—not a bit!”“I’m afraid you’re catching cold. For you know, the night air after a hot day—well, put on your cap, dearest. I wouldn’t have this night air to give youa cold for everything in the world. Look, there goes another one.” It was a Roman candle.“Amour à la plus belle.Honneur au plus vaillant——”“Why don’t they sing Dutch? Do you understand any of it?”Walter knew something of the handsome Dunois, who slew so many Turks and received as his reward the daughter of the duke, his master. How would a knight be rewarded after he had already received one reward? Or how would it have been if the master had had no daughter?While Walter was asking his lady friend such difficult questions as these, they heard an outburst of cries and abuse and oaths below. A reaction had set in. It was a perfect riot. The crowd swayed first one way then the other, according as one party or the other was in the ascendency.Non-combatants were pushing their way out; combatants, themselves crowded, were crowding others. Cries of “help” were heard. Mothers, with babies in their arms, attested their fear; women in delicate health made their condition known.The press was worst on the corner, whither the revelers were streaming from three directions. Here was located a popular restaurant and drinking-place, which was probably the destination of the stream coming from Amstel Street. The second stream, coming from Utrecht Street, evidently had the same objective in view. The strongest current was flowingfrom the belligerent group, which was now squeezed into close quarters.From his recent experience Walter knew what it meant to be in such a mob. Whoever fell was walked over. But it really wasn’t so bad as that: to fall was impossible. The danger was in being crowded off the street into basements, where limbs and necks might be easily broken. In this respect there was more danger than there had been the evening before in Kalver Street.“Christian souls!” cried Juffrouw Laps. “I’m getting right sick at the stomach.”Walter’s condition was about the same. All at once he seized her arm. He thought that he saw somebody—somebody who looked like——“That’s right, dear. Hold fast to me. It’s simply death and murder!”Walter did not say anything.“Isn’t it enough to run anybody crazy?” continued the dear Juffrouw. “Hold fast to me, and remember that I am your Christine.”He was remembering something else.“Don’t be afraid—Lord, that child’s beside himself—nobody shall hurt you. I will take care of you.”He held on to her arm all the tighter; otherwise he was as if turned to stone.“I wouldn’t pay any attention to it, sweetheart. But—it is bad enough. Do you see that girl there with the North Holland cap on? I wouldn’t like to be in her place.”“It is—Femke! O God, it is Femke!”Shaking off Juffrouw Laps, who attempted to hold him back, he rushed down the steps and in a few minutes was in the thickest of the fray.He fought his way through the crowd like a mad-man, soon reaching the point where he had seen Femke. She, however, had disappeared. A man with flashy cap and sailor’s jacket, who from above had looked like her escort, was still contending with the crowd. It seemed as if the two had come arm in arm through Amstel Street.“Is there a girl here with a North Holland cap on?”The man was too busy fighting and wrestling for standing-room to make answer. Meanwhile, Walter noticed that the fellow was struggling toward the “Herberge,” and concluded that his lady must have taken refuge there.Walter paid no more attention to the punches and blows he received. He was only concerned to give as many blows as were necessary to hasten his arrival at the restaurant. The place was about as badly crowded as the street, but there was no fighting going on.Yes, Walter had made a good beginning: yesterday in the “Polish Coffeehouse,” to-day in the “Juniper Berry”—thrown in there, fighting his way in here.He was in the restaurant at last, looking for Femke. Now he thought that he had discovered her, standing on a step, or something of the kind. With lips tightly closed, her arms crossed, the girl was looking quietly down on the multitude as if in silent contempt. The rim was torn from her cap and was hanging down.Walter thought that he even saw blood on her face—Femke’s dear face!He was exhausted and could not reach her. He looked at her. She did not see him.She stood there proud and haughty. He called to her. She did not hear.“O God! she despises me. I deserve it for my cowardice at Holsma’s.”“Boy,” said the woman behind the bar, “we don’t have any bellowing here. If you want to bellow go to your mother.”Easier said than done. He couldn’t move a peg, such was the press. He was shoved against the counter; and it was impossible for him to keep sight of Femke. The tears began to roll down his cheeks.“What are you doing in such a crowd anyway?” continued the woman, “when you’re so weak. You look as flimsy as a dish-rag. What have you been doing? Let me give you a glass of cognac.”He would have been only too glad to pay for his place; but, as he “received at home everything that he needed,” he did not have the wherewithal. Still, there was no danger of his being thrown out. The crowd, which was threatening to expend its remaining energy in destroying the liquids of the place, was now occupying the barmaid’s attention. I should say Mrs. Goremest’s attention. She was the proprietress.The girl continued to hold her position of advantage. There was something scornful in her features. “Who dares!” she seemed to say.Walter was feeling bad. She looked over in hisdirection, but without seeing him. He called; but she did not hear.Then the fellow with the flashy cap and sailor jacket appeared in the door. He had not been one of the belligerents; but he had suffered the fate of neutral powers. As his clothing testified, both parties had been his enemies.So intent was the fellow on getting in that he did not even take time to return the shoves and cuffs that he received. Twice, three times he was crowded back; for where so many want the same thing, it isn’t easy to obtain. Nevertheless, he had one advantage over the others, who sought only a resting-place and a glass of liquor. He was incited by something else.Walter hoped with all his heart that the fellow would succeed in reaching Femke. She looked so lonely in the midst of that wild mob. If he had been stronger, he would have—but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Wouldn’t she push him off, just as she did the insolent fellow who first caught hold of her apron?The girl seemed now to spy the sailor. She nodded to him and smiled, as if to encourage him. Or was she thanking him for his fidelity? Her smile bore the message that she was uninjured, and fearless. Yes, she stood there a statute of repose.The sailor nodded back.He would never have denied her, Walter thought.Mrs. Goremest happened to see the new arrival; and, from the way she greeted him, he seemed to be a frequent visitor to her place:“Hello, Klaas. Are you there too? You’re out of breath, aren’t you?”She gave orders to let him through, and even came out a few steps and helped open up the way for him.Thus it happened that Klaas Verlaan found standing-room at the counter not far from Walter.“Well, they’ve made the most of you!”He saw it the same way. He was never certain of a moment’s recreation before bedtime. Walter, as well as the girl who still maintained her elevated position in the corner, agreed with the bar-woman’s verdict.“Had a good day?” continued the woman. “It was bad about the boat-race.”Klaas placed his finger on his mouth, as if he were going to tell her a secret. He wanted to tell of an adventure with Princess Erika.“A glass of corn?” translated the bar-woman, but without guessing the right thing.“Half and half?”“Nor that either.”“Red?”This time Klaas was particularly dainty and hard to please. He declined regularly whatever she suggested and continued to exert himself to draw her into a more confidential talk. He had had the pleasure of pulling Princess Erika out of the water.On the outside they were still singing, “Amour à la plus belle.”“The devil take those Welsh songs!” cried one of the drinkers. “We are Dutchmen forever!”“Yes, we are Dutchman forever——”“And our prince——”“Sh!”“I will sing what I please; and, if anybody doesn’t want to sing”—he struck himself on the chest, and the whole party was Dutch and enthusiastic over royalty. “Our Prince” was sung lustily, and to a finish.“Hurrah!”“Yes, when we were still true Dutchmen——”“Yes, when we were still true Dutchmen——”“And under the republic!”“Long live the republic!”“You all ought to have seen a yacht-race then.”“And our prince——”“Under the republic all men were equal.”“Equal. No difference at all.”“Down with the tyrants!”“They’re not a bit better than we are!”“They suck the life out of the people.”“Yes, they bleed us.”“And why? Because you’re all cowardly dogs.”“Yes, they’re all cowardly dogs.”“You put your necks under the yoke.”“Whenever a king comes around, or an emperor, or a prince, then all of you are so frightened you tremble like an aspen leaf.”“Yes, like an aspen leaf!”“If you fellows were——”“All men are born free.”“Yes, we were born free and equal.”“And true Dutch hearts—what say you, Mrs. Goremest?What do you think, that’s a daughter of M’neer——”The name died on the speaker’s lips. He became pale.“A daughter of M’neer——!”“Certainly. Ask Verlaan.”Verlaan nodded.“Is that so, Klaas? Really and truly? Why then does she stand there dressed that way—like an ordinary girl?”“Oh, those clothes came from my Gertie, you know. Rich people have——”“Come, boys, we must go home now. Mother Goremest needs sleep, too. We are not made of iron; we are flesh and blood.”“Down with the tyrants! We were born free. True Dutch hearts——”“Sh! The young lady——”“What? That girl? What then?”“Sh! The daughter of—but don’t say a word. Damme if it isn’t so—the daughter of M’neer—Kopperlith!”“Kopperlith onKeizersgracht? What are you talking about, man! Kopperlith—onKeizersgracht!”“Yes, of course. Come, we’re going.”“His daughter? His——natural daughter?”“That’s right. You understand it now; but keep quiet about it.”The true Dutch hearts and republicans paid and left the bar.It was a sudden whim of Klaas Verlaan’s to make his ward a child ofKeizersgracht; but it broughthim in more ducats than he cared to admit afterward.Kopperlith? Kopperlith? onKeizersgracht? Femke onKeizersgracht! And on the day after to-morrow he was to begin work for this wealthy gentleman.His head swam. Was he still Walter Pieterse? He doubted it. Before he had quite come to himself, he was forced through the door with other late stragglers. It was time for Mrs. Goremest to close.The street was comparatively quiet now. Walter remained near the “Herberge,” which to him was a sort of temple where his Goddess was being worshiped. Now and then somebody else was pitched out the door, who would have been glad to stay longer. It was not every day that one got an opportunity to see a daughter of M’neer Kopperlith. Some wanted to join the triumvirate of Verlaan, the republican speaker, and Mrs. Goremest; but the three felt themselves strong enough to do the work and share the rewards.At last the outflow ceased, and Walter was just going to peep through the curtains of the glass door, when the door opened again and the republican emerged. Walter heard Klaas call to him:“There on the corner in Paarden Street, you know.If it costs a dollar more, that’s all right. Tell the cabby——”Walter understood. The republican was to get a cab—for Femke?Walter waited. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Goremest had locked the door and drawn the curtains, so that it was impossible for him to look in now.In a short time a carriage drove up, and the republican sprang out of it. The door of Mrs. Goremest’s establishment opened again, and Klaas Verlaan with the ostensible daughter of Kopperlith appeared.“Femke, I am here!” Walter cried, hurrying to her. “I am here. Oh, Femke, don’t go with the strange men!”“What in the devil are you doing here again!” snorted Verlaan, seizing Walter by the collar to pull him back into the restaurant. “What do you want? And who are you?”“Femke, don’t go with the strange men. I will take you home, I, Walter.”“The boy is weak in the upper story,” affirmed Mrs. Goremest. “He’s been bellowing around her the whole evening like a calf, and he hasn’t spent a doit.”Walter reached for Femke’s hand; and then he noticed how curiously she was rigged out. She was completely covered. Of her head, face, shoulders, figure—nothing was to be seen. Mrs. Goremest had contributed her cloak; but what would one not do for a Kopperlith? Still, she was saving: Only the stump of one tallow candle was burning. It flickered strangely, giving to everything a ghostly appearance.“Is it you, Erich?” the girl asked.“Femke, Femke, for God’s sake, don’t go with those strange men!”Tearing himself away from Verlaan, he threw himself at Femke’s feet. He pulled aside her cloak and covered her hand with tears and kisses.“Just like I tell you,” declared Mrs. Goremest. “The boy is as crazy as a bedbug.”“Femke, I will never deny you again. Strike me, tread on me, kill me, but—don’t go with those strange men.”“Light!” cried the girl peremptorily—a word that even a Dutchman understands.The republican took the candle from the counter and held it so that the light fell on Walter’s face. The boy was still kneeling. Through an opening in her hood the girl looked down on him and was silent. She did not withdraw the hand that Walter held closely pressed to his lips.Verlaan made a motion as if to remove the intruder; but the girl stopped him with a look. Then she laid her free hand on Walter’s head, saying simply:“My brother!”“Anotherdescendantof Kopperlith!” growled the republican. The young people have strange ideas about how to spend the night.”When Walter came to his senses, he was in the street again. The carriage had driven away—whether with her, or without her; whether with the two men, or without them—that he did not know. It made no difference to him: she had called him “brother,” seriously, solemnly. She had spoken clearly and distinctly.“O God! I thank thee. Thou art kind and compassionate. I didn’t know that Femke could speak like that. She must have felt it down in her heart.”To-morrow, he thought, he would become immensely wealthy—in “business”—and, of course, he was going to be a king again, and still more: For Femke he would be more than a brother! JuffrouwLaps had awakened in him—well, something, he did not know himself what it was. His heart rejoiced; he walked upon stilts, as tired as he was, and wondered that his head did not bump against the clouds.Chapter XXIXFor anyone in Walter’s present mood, there are only two things in the world; self, and—nothingness!Walter looked about him. “Butter Market,” he read on a sign. He noticed that in the street socks could be bought, wagons hired, etc., etc.But what did it all mean? Nothing. He had kissed Femke’s hand!It is too bad that the world did not sink out of existence on that summer night.If Walter had noticed such an occurrence, he might have asked if Femke was hurt; otherwise the phenomenon would not have disturbed him.The reader will understand, of course, that on this eventful night the world did not go down.Walter forgave the sun for rising. He even excused the Butter Market for being such a hot place; but it was difficult for him to convince himself that it was not all a dream.A new feeling took possession of him. His ambitious plans of a material nature receded into the background of consciousness. His one desire now was to love Femke—and win her love. Those continents that were expecting salvation from him might wait.He thought of Femke and her soft hand. Never had her hand felt like that. Formerly it had seemedharder and rougher; but, of course, he had just been mistaken about it. He imagined, too, that hitherto he had not marked her voice well, nor her carriage. Surely, he had never seen the true Femke till to-night—better, this morning.But—Klaas Verlaan and his rough companions! What did all that gab about M’neer Kopperlith mean? There were other questions too; but—Femke had called him brother; and that was one thing which with him was as firm as the rock of Gibraltar.Brooding thus, he slipped along through the streets. Weak and tired, he came to the “Dam.” Here he saw a long row of carriages. The coachmen sat in their places waiting for the princely guests, who had wanted to see a Holland sunrise. The sun was already in sight; but there were no princes and princesses to see him. A few laborers were looking on indifferently.Yesterday Walter would have exerted himself to see a live, fullgrown king, just to find out if he looked like Macbeth, or Arthur, or Lear. To-day he was so tired that kings did not interest him.He was just starting on, when the coachmen suddenly assumed a rigid attitude. A boy remarked that “they” were coming now. He was right: they did come; and all, except one old lady, drove away so rapidly that scarcely anyone saw them. She touched her coachman on the shoulder.“She has forgotten something,” said the boy.Three or four cavaliers stormed back into the palace and brought her fan. While they were gone, the boys wondered at the pimples on her face. Walter’spictures had had nothing of that kind. How different Femke’s face was!Walter trudged along further; and, without thinking of where he was going, he came to the meadow where Femke and her mother dried their clothes. He sat down on the grass, intending to wait for the first signs of life in Femke’s home. He was not certain that she was there; he did not know but that she might still be at Holsma’s; but there would be somebody there.Overcome by weariness he lay down and gradually fell asleep. His cap came off, rolled down into the ditch and disappeared in the mud.If anyone passed by, he remarked that there lay a drunken fellow. Yes, youth begins early. Possibly the fellow was sick; but then the police would take care of him. Nobody hurt him; nobody touched him. His dreams were undisturbed.He dreamed of various things; but the principal object of his dreams was a young girl, who was standing on a platform playing ball with heavy men, as if that were nothing. Suddenly it was little Sietske Holsma.Then in his dreams he heard a voice:“Goodness, boy, how did you get here?”At first the voice was far away, then nearer, and finally quite near. He had the dim impression that somebody was pulling him up to a sitting posture.“Sietske!” he whispered, still sleeping.“Yes, that’s my name. How did you know it?”“Sietske——!”“Why, certainly. Who told you? And what areyou doing here. It isn’t very respectable. Are you drunk? And so young, too.”He called Sietske’s name again.“You may call me by my first name, if you want to; but how does it come? Did Femke tell you? It’s a real disgrace to lie here like a hog. What were you going to say?”Walter rubbed his eyes and felt of his head. “I would like to wash myself,” he said, not yet wide awake.“All right,” cried Mrs. Claus. “And you’re not hurt, are you? Where is your cap?”“Wash—with cold water,” Walter said.“Good! Come to the pump with me.” She led him through the house and across the back yard.“You needn’t be afraid to undress here; nobody can see you. But how did you happen to call me by my first name all at once. Not that I’m offended at all.”Walter was still too much asleep to recall what had happened to him during the past few hours; so he only said that he had a headache and must wash himself first.Mrs. Claus, noticing that he was ashamed to undress, hung some quilts on the fence, thus converting the yard into a sort of room. It never occurred to her that her own presence might embarrass him. Walter was still not quite pleased with the outlook for a bath; but since yesterday he had been thinking of other things as strange.He began to strip, allowing Mrs. Claus to help him, just as if he had been fifteen years younger than he was. To Mrs. Claus he was only a child.She laid him on a bench under the spout and began to pump. At the first drops he shivered; then the water flooded his head and shoulders. He could neither see nor speak. His efforts to speak she interpreted as calls for more water.“Yes, this will be good for you.” Her words were drowned by the splashing water.“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Do you think that will be enough now? I’ve pumped till I’ve got a pain in my side. But if you think that——”She stopped all at once, but still held on to the pump handle, as if to show her willingness to continue.“I forgot entirely to”—she began pumping again—“wash you off with green soap. Femke always washes herself with it. It makes the skin nice and smooth.—You ought to see your back now. It shines like a looking-glass.”Walter wanted to say something but couldn’t.“Yes, and your forehead, too. It’s the green soap that does it. I guess your mother never washes you with green soap, does she? Then one must scour and scrub and rub. But, if you are not used to soap——”She lifted that terrible pump handle again.“I believe this will be about enough,” Walter blubbered. His mouth was so full of water that again Mrs. Claus did not understand him.“Green soap is good for corns, and for rheumatism.” She was pumping away for dear life.Walter finally succeeded in rescuing himself and the bench from that destructive stream of water. He was now able to make his cries for mercy understood; buthe was not yet able to get up. Besides, the good woman had hung his clothes out of his reach, and he was ashamed. He remained sitting.“Do you want anything else?” inquired the water nymph.“No, no, no!” he answered quickly. She was already lifting the pump-handle again. “But——”The simple, innocent woman did not understand; and, when he continued to sit there like a helpless lump of misery, she asked:“Do you have a pain anywhere?”“No, I haven’t any pains.”“Are you tired?”He was still tired, and said so.“And I woke you up! I’ll tell you what, you must go to sleep and take a good nap.”She began drying him off, as if that were a usual thing in her day’s work. Then she rolled him up in a sheet and carried him off like a sack of clothes. He could not but notice the way she laid him down. Then she covered him warmly.“Straighten out your legs, my boy.”Walter did as she said, and experienced an indescribable feeling of comfort. And when she punched him and patted him and tucked him in, and said: “Poor child, you can sleep good now. This is Femke’s bed, you know——” then he was more than comfortable; he was delighted.When he awakened at about four o’clock in the afternoon he heard whispering voices. He listened, at first to find out where he was, and then to understand what was being said.It seemed as if there were a plot further to confuse Sietske with Femke in his mind.“Yes, Sietske; but what does he mean by lying out like that? If I were his mother——”The answer was:“Cousin, I don’t suppose his mother knows about it. Hermann did the same thing once. That’s the way boys are.”Oho! Sietske was there; and Mrs. Claus was her cousin, and her name was Sietske too! And that girl—there in Mrs. Goremest’s place?His thoughts became more and more confused; though physically he felt well.How would it do, he thought, to tear a little piece out of the sheet, so as to be able to examine it to-morrow and make certain of himself and his adventures?If he had been accustomed to fine bedlinen at home, he might now have taken an especial pleasure in Mrs. Claus’s extremely rough homemade linen. Hm! He had always dreamed of princesses sleeping on embroidered silk, among diamonds and pearls! He did not yet know that it is possible to conceive royal and imperial highnesses otherwise at night, and that perhaps a princess might sometimes be willing to tousle Femke’s bed.He looked about the room. There was another small bed, where, he supposed, Femke’s mother slept. Across the room was the chimney. Here were small shelves decorated with works of art. Walter noticed the “resurrection of Lazarus.” Four chairs were in the room. One was standing by his bed, and on it his clothes were carefully arranged.In the middle of the room stood a table; and the drawer was partly open. It was too full. Father Jansen’s woolen socks were peeping out while they waited for repairs. Walter wondered if those other objectionable articles were there too.On the wall, at the head of his bed, hung a crucifix, with a small basin of holy water. With that she crosses herself, he thought. He stuck his hand into it: it was dry. The whole arrangement was fastened to an embroidered piece of cardboard, and, when he touched it, something fell from behind it.It looked like a large-sized letter. Walter picked it up and looked for the address. He felt that it must be a letter from Femke to him. Then he reproached himself, and, trembling with emotion, restored the piece of paper to its place. He had held it up to the light: it was the Ophelia that he had presented her after his illness! She had treasured the picture together with the most sacred thing she possessed.He was wide awake now; but who wouldn’t wake up on receiving a letter from Heaven?He dressed himself and went into the other room, where he supposed Mrs. Claus and Sietske were. Not a soul was to be seen. For the first time it occurred to him that after those few words he had heard nothing more. The girl had surely visited her “cousin” and then gone away.But Mrs. Claus herself? Perhaps she, too, had gone away. This was the case; however, she had not gone out without leaving behind her a peculiar sign of her uncouth character and lack of refinement. On a small table, before which stood an inviting chair,lay two pieces of bread and butter of her standard make. Beside them was a pot of coffee. To be sure, it was cold now; but—well, Walter acted quickly “according to his convictions.”Other thoughts now forced themselves on his mind. The “House of Pieterse” appeared to his mind’s eye as a menacing waterspout. In the face of this danger difficult questions that had been clamoring for answer had to be forgotten.To go home? For heaven’s sake, no!His mother, Stoffel, his sisters—all had turned into Macbethan witches. In his imagination, even Leentje had deserted him and was asking him to beg forgiveness for his shameful behavior. He thought of the prodigal son; though he knew that no calf, fat or otherwise, would be slaughtered on his return.Sakkerloot!I haven’t done anything wrong; I haven’t squandered anything—not a doit of my inheritance! Have I allowed the wine to run out? Not a drop!But something must have been the matter; for—he did not dare to go home.Have I had any pleasure? Have I enjoyed any feast with four young ladies? No! Have I allowed hounds to run around loose in the banquet-hall? Have I had any negro servant to hold my horse?There he took his stand. And he stayed there. Of camels and girls and wine he felt that he was innocent; but himself, and his adventures of the night, he was unable further to explain.“I wish I were a crumb of bread,” he sighed, as hestuck one into his mouth, “then I would know where I belong.”Doubtless the first crumb of bread that was ever envied by a ruler.Go to America?Yes, if he only had those hundred florins that Mr. Motto had relieved him of. Of course that worthy gentleman was now living like a prince on the money. At least, Juffrouw Pieterse had said as much. But, even if he had the money, he could not go away and leave Mrs. Claus’s house to the mercy of stray thieves and robbers. In a way, hadn’t he on yesterday evening taken the field against robbers?Besides, he had no cap. There was nothing in sight that looked like a hat. Yes—there hung a North Holland cap!Femke? America?
Chapter XXVIIWalter shuddered as he crossed Juffrouw Laps’s threshold. He reflected, and wondered how he could have entered upon this knightly expedition without considering certain details connected with it and inseparable from it.The first thing she offered him, of course, was the fried potatoes, that dainty dish which the murderers had greedily madeawaywith!Walter was beginning to feel that the game wasn’t worth the candle. The adventure didn’t offer sufficient outlet for his chivalry. In fact, he thought something other than chivalry was necessary to face single-handed and alone those fried potatoes and Juffrouw Laps’s persistent attentions.“Make yourself at home and eat all you want. Don’t be a bit embarrassed. Or would you rather take off your coat first? You know, you’re to stay all night with me.”Walter preferred to keep on his coat for the present.“And I have a dram for you, too, my boy—something extra. It’s from Fockink’s. You know where he has his distillery, there in that narrow street. You must never pass along there. Bad women live in that street. They stand at the doors and windows, don’t you know; and that isn’t good for a bachelor like you.”Walter, the “bachelor,” looked surprised. He was abashed; though he was not displeased. This promotion was more flattering than going into “business.”Still, he was embarrassed. Juffrouw Laps found it desirable, therefore, to continue along this line.“Certainly, Walter, you’re a bachelor. Don’t you know that? It’s only because at home they treat you like a child. I tell you, you’re a bachelor, just as much so as anybody else. Do you think I like Stoffel as well as I do you? No, no, no! Not a bit of it! I like you lots better. Don’t you want a pipe to smoke? You are man enough for that. Of course you are; and why shouldn’t you smoke a pipe like other men?”Men, men!Walter answered that he couldn’t smoke yet. It cost him an effort to make the admission; but his first attempt to equal Stoffel in that respect had turned out badly.“So? You don’t smoke?” She omitted his “yet.”“Well, it’s a good thing. It’s a stupid habit in men. And forever the terrible smoke! I know other young gentlemen who do not smoke. For instance, there is Piet Hammel. He’s as old as you, but a little smaller. He’s going to marry a cousin of mine; and he doesn’t smoke either.”Walter felt better now. He was interested.“Yes, they’re going to get married about—well, I don’t know exactly when. But they intend to marry. I tell you, you are a real bachelor; and it’s awfully stupid of them still to treat you like a child. I’ve told your mother so a hundred times. There on the streetjust now, when we were together—I’m a delicate woman; but do you think I was afraid?—with you with me? Not a bit. Not a trace of fear. And why? Because everybody could see that I had a man with me. I ought to have taken hold of your arm—you’re almost taller than I am—but I didn’t do it because you had a package. And then—the people talk so much! The watchman might have seen it, and he would have spread the news broadcast that I had been seen at night with a gentleman.”With a gentleman! Walter was listening.“A woman must always think of her reputation. But we’re here at home now, and that’s very different, entirely different. I know that of course you wouldn’t tell anything bad about me. Whoever tells anything bad on a woman isn’t a true gentleman. You know that.”Yes, Walter knew it. He understood Juffrouw Laps better than she imagined.“What I wanted to say was, you must never go through that street. So long as you were a child, it made no difference. But now! Let me fill your glass for you.”Walter drank.O Fancy, my muse, where art thou?“How do you like it?”Walter owned that the liquor had a pleasant taste.Satan’s handmaid filled the glasses again. They were “so small,” really “mere thimbles.”“And you must eat something, dearest. Oh, I have always thought so much of you! It’s good for you to have a little dram like that.”Walter began to eat.“Just take off your coat; there’s nobody here but us.”Quite so. Walter did take off his coat.“And I’m going to sit close to you, for you are a dear, good, sweet boy.”Fancy, Fancy!The liquor was strong, and Walter drank more of it than was good for him. He lost some of his modesty, and hardly knew what he was saying to the talkative Juffrouw, as she asked questions from time to time. She was not quite satisfied with the way things were going, but hoped for the best.Occasionally Walter found time to wonder why he was there, what the purpose of the enforced visit might be. His hostess seemed to have forgotten all about those thieves and murderers; and when he reminded her of them, she showed a spirit of valor that did him good. For he and his valor were undone.“I will do them! Do you think I’m afraid of such a fellow? Well, I guess not. Not afraid of three of them. I wouldn’t be afraid of ten of them—I’m not afraid of the whole world. I will do them.”All the better, thought Walter; for then he wouldn’t have to “do” them.They now heard something rustling around in the closet, or else they imagined they heard something. Walter was frightened. He was a perfect child again.“Stay here, and I will see what it is,” cried the Juffrouw. “Do you think I would let them beat you, or stab you, or murder you, my boy! Never! Whoevertouches you will have to walk over me. But I will give them all they need.”She went out, taking the light with her, to see what was the matter—if anything. She was careful to leave Walter in the dark long enough for him to wish for her return. The tables were being turned. A little more, and the boy would seek protection under her apron.“But, Juffrouw——”“I will let you call me Christine. That’s my name.”This was too much for Walter. He preferred to avoid addressing her directly.“But hadn’t I better go home now?”“Not at all. You don’t want to leave me, do you? You know your mother is in bed asleep now. Besides, it was understood that you were to spend the night here and take breakfast with me.”Breakfast! The boy hadn’t been doing anything else for an hour. Was that to continue till morning?“I’ll tell you what! Just undress yourself; and you needn’t be a bit ashamed before me. I will make down a pallet for you there in the corner. When I’m here alone—just a woman—with all the thieves and robbers—oh, it’s so horrible!”Walter did not dare to say no; nor did he dare to do what was proposed so enticingly. He hesitated.She talked sweetly and persuaded him.He began to——The child was as if hypnotized.O Fancy, Fancy! Where art thou?
Walter shuddered as he crossed Juffrouw Laps’s threshold. He reflected, and wondered how he could have entered upon this knightly expedition without considering certain details connected with it and inseparable from it.
The first thing she offered him, of course, was the fried potatoes, that dainty dish which the murderers had greedily madeawaywith!
Walter was beginning to feel that the game wasn’t worth the candle. The adventure didn’t offer sufficient outlet for his chivalry. In fact, he thought something other than chivalry was necessary to face single-handed and alone those fried potatoes and Juffrouw Laps’s persistent attentions.
“Make yourself at home and eat all you want. Don’t be a bit embarrassed. Or would you rather take off your coat first? You know, you’re to stay all night with me.”
Walter preferred to keep on his coat for the present.
“And I have a dram for you, too, my boy—something extra. It’s from Fockink’s. You know where he has his distillery, there in that narrow street. You must never pass along there. Bad women live in that street. They stand at the doors and windows, don’t you know; and that isn’t good for a bachelor like you.”
Walter, the “bachelor,” looked surprised. He was abashed; though he was not displeased. This promotion was more flattering than going into “business.”
Still, he was embarrassed. Juffrouw Laps found it desirable, therefore, to continue along this line.
“Certainly, Walter, you’re a bachelor. Don’t you know that? It’s only because at home they treat you like a child. I tell you, you’re a bachelor, just as much so as anybody else. Do you think I like Stoffel as well as I do you? No, no, no! Not a bit of it! I like you lots better. Don’t you want a pipe to smoke? You are man enough for that. Of course you are; and why shouldn’t you smoke a pipe like other men?”
Men, men!
Walter answered that he couldn’t smoke yet. It cost him an effort to make the admission; but his first attempt to equal Stoffel in that respect had turned out badly.
“So? You don’t smoke?” She omitted his “yet.”
“Well, it’s a good thing. It’s a stupid habit in men. And forever the terrible smoke! I know other young gentlemen who do not smoke. For instance, there is Piet Hammel. He’s as old as you, but a little smaller. He’s going to marry a cousin of mine; and he doesn’t smoke either.”
Walter felt better now. He was interested.
“Yes, they’re going to get married about—well, I don’t know exactly when. But they intend to marry. I tell you, you are a real bachelor; and it’s awfully stupid of them still to treat you like a child. I’ve told your mother so a hundred times. There on the streetjust now, when we were together—I’m a delicate woman; but do you think I was afraid?—with you with me? Not a bit. Not a trace of fear. And why? Because everybody could see that I had a man with me. I ought to have taken hold of your arm—you’re almost taller than I am—but I didn’t do it because you had a package. And then—the people talk so much! The watchman might have seen it, and he would have spread the news broadcast that I had been seen at night with a gentleman.”
With a gentleman! Walter was listening.
“A woman must always think of her reputation. But we’re here at home now, and that’s very different, entirely different. I know that of course you wouldn’t tell anything bad about me. Whoever tells anything bad on a woman isn’t a true gentleman. You know that.”
Yes, Walter knew it. He understood Juffrouw Laps better than she imagined.
“What I wanted to say was, you must never go through that street. So long as you were a child, it made no difference. But now! Let me fill your glass for you.”
Walter drank.
O Fancy, my muse, where art thou?
“How do you like it?”
Walter owned that the liquor had a pleasant taste.
Satan’s handmaid filled the glasses again. They were “so small,” really “mere thimbles.”
“And you must eat something, dearest. Oh, I have always thought so much of you! It’s good for you to have a little dram like that.”
Walter began to eat.
“Just take off your coat; there’s nobody here but us.”
Quite so. Walter did take off his coat.
“And I’m going to sit close to you, for you are a dear, good, sweet boy.”
Fancy, Fancy!
The liquor was strong, and Walter drank more of it than was good for him. He lost some of his modesty, and hardly knew what he was saying to the talkative Juffrouw, as she asked questions from time to time. She was not quite satisfied with the way things were going, but hoped for the best.
Occasionally Walter found time to wonder why he was there, what the purpose of the enforced visit might be. His hostess seemed to have forgotten all about those thieves and murderers; and when he reminded her of them, she showed a spirit of valor that did him good. For he and his valor were undone.
“I will do them! Do you think I’m afraid of such a fellow? Well, I guess not. Not afraid of three of them. I wouldn’t be afraid of ten of them—I’m not afraid of the whole world. I will do them.”
All the better, thought Walter; for then he wouldn’t have to “do” them.
They now heard something rustling around in the closet, or else they imagined they heard something. Walter was frightened. He was a perfect child again.
“Stay here, and I will see what it is,” cried the Juffrouw. “Do you think I would let them beat you, or stab you, or murder you, my boy! Never! Whoevertouches you will have to walk over me. But I will give them all they need.”
She went out, taking the light with her, to see what was the matter—if anything. She was careful to leave Walter in the dark long enough for him to wish for her return. The tables were being turned. A little more, and the boy would seek protection under her apron.
“But, Juffrouw——”
“I will let you call me Christine. That’s my name.”
This was too much for Walter. He preferred to avoid addressing her directly.
“But hadn’t I better go home now?”
“Not at all. You don’t want to leave me, do you? You know your mother is in bed asleep now. Besides, it was understood that you were to spend the night here and take breakfast with me.”
Breakfast! The boy hadn’t been doing anything else for an hour. Was that to continue till morning?
“I’ll tell you what! Just undress yourself; and you needn’t be a bit ashamed before me. I will make down a pallet for you there in the corner. When I’m here alone—just a woman—with all the thieves and robbers—oh, it’s so horrible!”
Walter did not dare to say no; nor did he dare to do what was proposed so enticingly. He hesitated.
She talked sweetly and persuaded him.
He began to——
The child was as if hypnotized.
O Fancy, Fancy! Where art thou?
Chapter XXVIIIIt will be remembered that on this significant Friday a boat-race had been arranged for the amusement of the visiting princes and princesses. It had to be called off on account of a disinclination on the side of the wind to fill its part of the program, or rather, to fill the sails. For it was to have been a “sail.” Rowing was not in style then; it was not considered dignified and manly. Besides, the boats were not built to be propelled in this way.The boat-race had been canceled; but the crowd remained, and continued to discharge its enthusiasm for royalty till a late hour. It was a great day; and the populace perspired and shouted and howled.It was so hot that kings and princesses perspired like ordinary mortals. They flourished fans indolently. At that time there was a special kind of fan: “joujoux de Normandie.”It was observed that the old countess-palatine manipulated her fan more elegantly than anyone else. No doubt it was through this “gentle art” that she exerted her greatest influence on humanity.Gradually the carriages of the distinguished guests disappeared, and the knightly horsemen tired of the saddle. The day drew to a close. The populace pushed and crowded and sang and hurrahed and drank. Fireworks were discharged, to express, sothe newspapers said, the inexpressible love of the people for princes and princesses.Oh, those firecrackers, and the danger in them! Quick, quick—throw it—a second longer and it will burst in your hand—hurrah!It was magnificent—the danger and thrilling anxiety. There was a tradition that somebody had once held a firecracker in his hand too long and had been badly hurt by it. This traditional “somebody” was now inspiring the revelers with fresh enthusiasm.So it was on that evening, before the city authorities had prohibited the use of fireworks. After the houses had been covered with slate, it was thought that there was too much danger of fire in firecrackers, but on that evening, when the houses still had thatch roofs, the dangerous pleasure of Amsterdam youth was unrestrained.And the other dangerous pleasures! How many lasses went home with their skirts singed, some of them hardly getting home at all. Interesting adventures! And a boy—“those boys have to have their noses in everything”—yes, a youth came very near getting a load in his face. Thrilling delight!The crowd was now in the street where Juffrouw Laps resided. The reader will recall that Walter was spending the night with her.Boom! went a gun, or a cannon-cracker; and Walter awoke just as his affectionate hostess and religious adviser was going to give him a kiss.Juffrouw Laps had burned her sinful lips. “Lord have mercy on us, what is that!” she cried.Both ran to the open window. Ordinarily a respectable Hollandish girl never leaves her window open at night; but the extreme heat of the evening must be urged in Juffrouw Laps’s favor.It was clear to them at once that they had not been fired upon by those “murderers,” for nobody paid any attention to them or showed any interest in them. Other windows were open, as well; and on all sides people were looking out. Right and left a cannonade of firecrackers was going on.In the interest of privacy Juffrouw Laps took the precaution to blow out the light as quickly as possible. Another might have neglected this.Walter looked down on it all with the delight of a child. He forgot the insistent kindness of his hostess; he thought of nothing but the crowd below and their antics. The noise and tumult sobered him; and it even had a quieting effect on Juffrouw Laps.“How foolish the people are. They push one another hither and thither and don’t know themselves why they do it.”“Click, click!” answered an enthusiast with a gun. He was in the midst of a bevy of girls, who scattered in an uproar.“They’re all drunk,” said Juffrouw Laps. “I wish they would go home. I’m tired—and it’s two o’clock.”“Just a little more!” begged Walter. “I’m not tired—not a bit!”“I’m afraid you’re catching cold. For you know, the night air after a hot day—well, put on your cap, dearest. I wouldn’t have this night air to give youa cold for everything in the world. Look, there goes another one.” It was a Roman candle.“Amour à la plus belle.Honneur au plus vaillant——”“Why don’t they sing Dutch? Do you understand any of it?”Walter knew something of the handsome Dunois, who slew so many Turks and received as his reward the daughter of the duke, his master. How would a knight be rewarded after he had already received one reward? Or how would it have been if the master had had no daughter?While Walter was asking his lady friend such difficult questions as these, they heard an outburst of cries and abuse and oaths below. A reaction had set in. It was a perfect riot. The crowd swayed first one way then the other, according as one party or the other was in the ascendency.Non-combatants were pushing their way out; combatants, themselves crowded, were crowding others. Cries of “help” were heard. Mothers, with babies in their arms, attested their fear; women in delicate health made their condition known.The press was worst on the corner, whither the revelers were streaming from three directions. Here was located a popular restaurant and drinking-place, which was probably the destination of the stream coming from Amstel Street. The second stream, coming from Utrecht Street, evidently had the same objective in view. The strongest current was flowingfrom the belligerent group, which was now squeezed into close quarters.From his recent experience Walter knew what it meant to be in such a mob. Whoever fell was walked over. But it really wasn’t so bad as that: to fall was impossible. The danger was in being crowded off the street into basements, where limbs and necks might be easily broken. In this respect there was more danger than there had been the evening before in Kalver Street.“Christian souls!” cried Juffrouw Laps. “I’m getting right sick at the stomach.”Walter’s condition was about the same. All at once he seized her arm. He thought that he saw somebody—somebody who looked like——“That’s right, dear. Hold fast to me. It’s simply death and murder!”Walter did not say anything.“Isn’t it enough to run anybody crazy?” continued the dear Juffrouw. “Hold fast to me, and remember that I am your Christine.”He was remembering something else.“Don’t be afraid—Lord, that child’s beside himself—nobody shall hurt you. I will take care of you.”He held on to her arm all the tighter; otherwise he was as if turned to stone.“I wouldn’t pay any attention to it, sweetheart. But—it is bad enough. Do you see that girl there with the North Holland cap on? I wouldn’t like to be in her place.”“It is—Femke! O God, it is Femke!”Shaking off Juffrouw Laps, who attempted to hold him back, he rushed down the steps and in a few minutes was in the thickest of the fray.He fought his way through the crowd like a mad-man, soon reaching the point where he had seen Femke. She, however, had disappeared. A man with flashy cap and sailor’s jacket, who from above had looked like her escort, was still contending with the crowd. It seemed as if the two had come arm in arm through Amstel Street.“Is there a girl here with a North Holland cap on?”The man was too busy fighting and wrestling for standing-room to make answer. Meanwhile, Walter noticed that the fellow was struggling toward the “Herberge,” and concluded that his lady must have taken refuge there.Walter paid no more attention to the punches and blows he received. He was only concerned to give as many blows as were necessary to hasten his arrival at the restaurant. The place was about as badly crowded as the street, but there was no fighting going on.Yes, Walter had made a good beginning: yesterday in the “Polish Coffeehouse,” to-day in the “Juniper Berry”—thrown in there, fighting his way in here.He was in the restaurant at last, looking for Femke. Now he thought that he had discovered her, standing on a step, or something of the kind. With lips tightly closed, her arms crossed, the girl was looking quietly down on the multitude as if in silent contempt. The rim was torn from her cap and was hanging down.Walter thought that he even saw blood on her face—Femke’s dear face!He was exhausted and could not reach her. He looked at her. She did not see him.She stood there proud and haughty. He called to her. She did not hear.“O God! she despises me. I deserve it for my cowardice at Holsma’s.”“Boy,” said the woman behind the bar, “we don’t have any bellowing here. If you want to bellow go to your mother.”Easier said than done. He couldn’t move a peg, such was the press. He was shoved against the counter; and it was impossible for him to keep sight of Femke. The tears began to roll down his cheeks.“What are you doing in such a crowd anyway?” continued the woman, “when you’re so weak. You look as flimsy as a dish-rag. What have you been doing? Let me give you a glass of cognac.”He would have been only too glad to pay for his place; but, as he “received at home everything that he needed,” he did not have the wherewithal. Still, there was no danger of his being thrown out. The crowd, which was threatening to expend its remaining energy in destroying the liquids of the place, was now occupying the barmaid’s attention. I should say Mrs. Goremest’s attention. She was the proprietress.The girl continued to hold her position of advantage. There was something scornful in her features. “Who dares!” she seemed to say.Walter was feeling bad. She looked over in hisdirection, but without seeing him. He called; but she did not hear.Then the fellow with the flashy cap and sailor jacket appeared in the door. He had not been one of the belligerents; but he had suffered the fate of neutral powers. As his clothing testified, both parties had been his enemies.So intent was the fellow on getting in that he did not even take time to return the shoves and cuffs that he received. Twice, three times he was crowded back; for where so many want the same thing, it isn’t easy to obtain. Nevertheless, he had one advantage over the others, who sought only a resting-place and a glass of liquor. He was incited by something else.Walter hoped with all his heart that the fellow would succeed in reaching Femke. She looked so lonely in the midst of that wild mob. If he had been stronger, he would have—but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Wouldn’t she push him off, just as she did the insolent fellow who first caught hold of her apron?The girl seemed now to spy the sailor. She nodded to him and smiled, as if to encourage him. Or was she thanking him for his fidelity? Her smile bore the message that she was uninjured, and fearless. Yes, she stood there a statute of repose.The sailor nodded back.He would never have denied her, Walter thought.Mrs. Goremest happened to see the new arrival; and, from the way she greeted him, he seemed to be a frequent visitor to her place:“Hello, Klaas. Are you there too? You’re out of breath, aren’t you?”She gave orders to let him through, and even came out a few steps and helped open up the way for him.Thus it happened that Klaas Verlaan found standing-room at the counter not far from Walter.“Well, they’ve made the most of you!”He saw it the same way. He was never certain of a moment’s recreation before bedtime. Walter, as well as the girl who still maintained her elevated position in the corner, agreed with the bar-woman’s verdict.“Had a good day?” continued the woman. “It was bad about the boat-race.”Klaas placed his finger on his mouth, as if he were going to tell her a secret. He wanted to tell of an adventure with Princess Erika.“A glass of corn?” translated the bar-woman, but without guessing the right thing.“Half and half?”“Nor that either.”“Red?”This time Klaas was particularly dainty and hard to please. He declined regularly whatever she suggested and continued to exert himself to draw her into a more confidential talk. He had had the pleasure of pulling Princess Erika out of the water.On the outside they were still singing, “Amour à la plus belle.”“The devil take those Welsh songs!” cried one of the drinkers. “We are Dutchmen forever!”“Yes, we are Dutchman forever——”“And our prince——”“Sh!”“I will sing what I please; and, if anybody doesn’t want to sing”—he struck himself on the chest, and the whole party was Dutch and enthusiastic over royalty. “Our Prince” was sung lustily, and to a finish.“Hurrah!”“Yes, when we were still true Dutchmen——”“Yes, when we were still true Dutchmen——”“And under the republic!”“Long live the republic!”“You all ought to have seen a yacht-race then.”“And our prince——”“Under the republic all men were equal.”“Equal. No difference at all.”“Down with the tyrants!”“They’re not a bit better than we are!”“They suck the life out of the people.”“Yes, they bleed us.”“And why? Because you’re all cowardly dogs.”“Yes, they’re all cowardly dogs.”“You put your necks under the yoke.”“Whenever a king comes around, or an emperor, or a prince, then all of you are so frightened you tremble like an aspen leaf.”“Yes, like an aspen leaf!”“If you fellows were——”“All men are born free.”“Yes, we were born free and equal.”“And true Dutch hearts—what say you, Mrs. Goremest?What do you think, that’s a daughter of M’neer——”The name died on the speaker’s lips. He became pale.“A daughter of M’neer——!”“Certainly. Ask Verlaan.”Verlaan nodded.“Is that so, Klaas? Really and truly? Why then does she stand there dressed that way—like an ordinary girl?”“Oh, those clothes came from my Gertie, you know. Rich people have——”“Come, boys, we must go home now. Mother Goremest needs sleep, too. We are not made of iron; we are flesh and blood.”“Down with the tyrants! We were born free. True Dutch hearts——”“Sh! The young lady——”“What? That girl? What then?”“Sh! The daughter of—but don’t say a word. Damme if it isn’t so—the daughter of M’neer—Kopperlith!”“Kopperlith onKeizersgracht? What are you talking about, man! Kopperlith—onKeizersgracht!”“Yes, of course. Come, we’re going.”“His daughter? His——natural daughter?”“That’s right. You understand it now; but keep quiet about it.”The true Dutch hearts and republicans paid and left the bar.It was a sudden whim of Klaas Verlaan’s to make his ward a child ofKeizersgracht; but it broughthim in more ducats than he cared to admit afterward.Kopperlith? Kopperlith? onKeizersgracht? Femke onKeizersgracht! And on the day after to-morrow he was to begin work for this wealthy gentleman.His head swam. Was he still Walter Pieterse? He doubted it. Before he had quite come to himself, he was forced through the door with other late stragglers. It was time for Mrs. Goremest to close.The street was comparatively quiet now. Walter remained near the “Herberge,” which to him was a sort of temple where his Goddess was being worshiped. Now and then somebody else was pitched out the door, who would have been glad to stay longer. It was not every day that one got an opportunity to see a daughter of M’neer Kopperlith. Some wanted to join the triumvirate of Verlaan, the republican speaker, and Mrs. Goremest; but the three felt themselves strong enough to do the work and share the rewards.At last the outflow ceased, and Walter was just going to peep through the curtains of the glass door, when the door opened again and the republican emerged. Walter heard Klaas call to him:“There on the corner in Paarden Street, you know.If it costs a dollar more, that’s all right. Tell the cabby——”Walter understood. The republican was to get a cab—for Femke?Walter waited. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Goremest had locked the door and drawn the curtains, so that it was impossible for him to look in now.In a short time a carriage drove up, and the republican sprang out of it. The door of Mrs. Goremest’s establishment opened again, and Klaas Verlaan with the ostensible daughter of Kopperlith appeared.“Femke, I am here!” Walter cried, hurrying to her. “I am here. Oh, Femke, don’t go with the strange men!”“What in the devil are you doing here again!” snorted Verlaan, seizing Walter by the collar to pull him back into the restaurant. “What do you want? And who are you?”“Femke, don’t go with the strange men. I will take you home, I, Walter.”“The boy is weak in the upper story,” affirmed Mrs. Goremest. “He’s been bellowing around her the whole evening like a calf, and he hasn’t spent a doit.”Walter reached for Femke’s hand; and then he noticed how curiously she was rigged out. She was completely covered. Of her head, face, shoulders, figure—nothing was to be seen. Mrs. Goremest had contributed her cloak; but what would one not do for a Kopperlith? Still, she was saving: Only the stump of one tallow candle was burning. It flickered strangely, giving to everything a ghostly appearance.“Is it you, Erich?” the girl asked.“Femke, Femke, for God’s sake, don’t go with those strange men!”Tearing himself away from Verlaan, he threw himself at Femke’s feet. He pulled aside her cloak and covered her hand with tears and kisses.“Just like I tell you,” declared Mrs. Goremest. “The boy is as crazy as a bedbug.”“Femke, I will never deny you again. Strike me, tread on me, kill me, but—don’t go with those strange men.”“Light!” cried the girl peremptorily—a word that even a Dutchman understands.The republican took the candle from the counter and held it so that the light fell on Walter’s face. The boy was still kneeling. Through an opening in her hood the girl looked down on him and was silent. She did not withdraw the hand that Walter held closely pressed to his lips.Verlaan made a motion as if to remove the intruder; but the girl stopped him with a look. Then she laid her free hand on Walter’s head, saying simply:“My brother!”“Anotherdescendantof Kopperlith!” growled the republican. The young people have strange ideas about how to spend the night.”When Walter came to his senses, he was in the street again. The carriage had driven away—whether with her, or without her; whether with the two men, or without them—that he did not know. It made no difference to him: she had called him “brother,” seriously, solemnly. She had spoken clearly and distinctly.“O God! I thank thee. Thou art kind and compassionate. I didn’t know that Femke could speak like that. She must have felt it down in her heart.”To-morrow, he thought, he would become immensely wealthy—in “business”—and, of course, he was going to be a king again, and still more: For Femke he would be more than a brother! JuffrouwLaps had awakened in him—well, something, he did not know himself what it was. His heart rejoiced; he walked upon stilts, as tired as he was, and wondered that his head did not bump against the clouds.
It will be remembered that on this significant Friday a boat-race had been arranged for the amusement of the visiting princes and princesses. It had to be called off on account of a disinclination on the side of the wind to fill its part of the program, or rather, to fill the sails. For it was to have been a “sail.” Rowing was not in style then; it was not considered dignified and manly. Besides, the boats were not built to be propelled in this way.
The boat-race had been canceled; but the crowd remained, and continued to discharge its enthusiasm for royalty till a late hour. It was a great day; and the populace perspired and shouted and howled.
It was so hot that kings and princesses perspired like ordinary mortals. They flourished fans indolently. At that time there was a special kind of fan: “joujoux de Normandie.”
It was observed that the old countess-palatine manipulated her fan more elegantly than anyone else. No doubt it was through this “gentle art” that she exerted her greatest influence on humanity.
Gradually the carriages of the distinguished guests disappeared, and the knightly horsemen tired of the saddle. The day drew to a close. The populace pushed and crowded and sang and hurrahed and drank. Fireworks were discharged, to express, sothe newspapers said, the inexpressible love of the people for princes and princesses.
Oh, those firecrackers, and the danger in them! Quick, quick—throw it—a second longer and it will burst in your hand—hurrah!
It was magnificent—the danger and thrilling anxiety. There was a tradition that somebody had once held a firecracker in his hand too long and had been badly hurt by it. This traditional “somebody” was now inspiring the revelers with fresh enthusiasm.
So it was on that evening, before the city authorities had prohibited the use of fireworks. After the houses had been covered with slate, it was thought that there was too much danger of fire in firecrackers, but on that evening, when the houses still had thatch roofs, the dangerous pleasure of Amsterdam youth was unrestrained.
And the other dangerous pleasures! How many lasses went home with their skirts singed, some of them hardly getting home at all. Interesting adventures! And a boy—“those boys have to have their noses in everything”—yes, a youth came very near getting a load in his face. Thrilling delight!
The crowd was now in the street where Juffrouw Laps resided. The reader will recall that Walter was spending the night with her.
Boom! went a gun, or a cannon-cracker; and Walter awoke just as his affectionate hostess and religious adviser was going to give him a kiss.
Juffrouw Laps had burned her sinful lips. “Lord have mercy on us, what is that!” she cried.
Both ran to the open window. Ordinarily a respectable Hollandish girl never leaves her window open at night; but the extreme heat of the evening must be urged in Juffrouw Laps’s favor.
It was clear to them at once that they had not been fired upon by those “murderers,” for nobody paid any attention to them or showed any interest in them. Other windows were open, as well; and on all sides people were looking out. Right and left a cannonade of firecrackers was going on.
In the interest of privacy Juffrouw Laps took the precaution to blow out the light as quickly as possible. Another might have neglected this.
Walter looked down on it all with the delight of a child. He forgot the insistent kindness of his hostess; he thought of nothing but the crowd below and their antics. The noise and tumult sobered him; and it even had a quieting effect on Juffrouw Laps.
“How foolish the people are. They push one another hither and thither and don’t know themselves why they do it.”
“Click, click!” answered an enthusiast with a gun. He was in the midst of a bevy of girls, who scattered in an uproar.
“They’re all drunk,” said Juffrouw Laps. “I wish they would go home. I’m tired—and it’s two o’clock.”
“Just a little more!” begged Walter. “I’m not tired—not a bit!”
“I’m afraid you’re catching cold. For you know, the night air after a hot day—well, put on your cap, dearest. I wouldn’t have this night air to give youa cold for everything in the world. Look, there goes another one.” It was a Roman candle.
“Amour à la plus belle.Honneur au plus vaillant——”
“Amour à la plus belle.
Honneur au plus vaillant——”
“Why don’t they sing Dutch? Do you understand any of it?”
Walter knew something of the handsome Dunois, who slew so many Turks and received as his reward the daughter of the duke, his master. How would a knight be rewarded after he had already received one reward? Or how would it have been if the master had had no daughter?
While Walter was asking his lady friend such difficult questions as these, they heard an outburst of cries and abuse and oaths below. A reaction had set in. It was a perfect riot. The crowd swayed first one way then the other, according as one party or the other was in the ascendency.
Non-combatants were pushing their way out; combatants, themselves crowded, were crowding others. Cries of “help” were heard. Mothers, with babies in their arms, attested their fear; women in delicate health made their condition known.
The press was worst on the corner, whither the revelers were streaming from three directions. Here was located a popular restaurant and drinking-place, which was probably the destination of the stream coming from Amstel Street. The second stream, coming from Utrecht Street, evidently had the same objective in view. The strongest current was flowingfrom the belligerent group, which was now squeezed into close quarters.
From his recent experience Walter knew what it meant to be in such a mob. Whoever fell was walked over. But it really wasn’t so bad as that: to fall was impossible. The danger was in being crowded off the street into basements, where limbs and necks might be easily broken. In this respect there was more danger than there had been the evening before in Kalver Street.
“Christian souls!” cried Juffrouw Laps. “I’m getting right sick at the stomach.”
Walter’s condition was about the same. All at once he seized her arm. He thought that he saw somebody—somebody who looked like——
“That’s right, dear. Hold fast to me. It’s simply death and murder!”
Walter did not say anything.
“Isn’t it enough to run anybody crazy?” continued the dear Juffrouw. “Hold fast to me, and remember that I am your Christine.”
He was remembering something else.
“Don’t be afraid—Lord, that child’s beside himself—nobody shall hurt you. I will take care of you.”
He held on to her arm all the tighter; otherwise he was as if turned to stone.
“I wouldn’t pay any attention to it, sweetheart. But—it is bad enough. Do you see that girl there with the North Holland cap on? I wouldn’t like to be in her place.”
“It is—Femke! O God, it is Femke!”
Shaking off Juffrouw Laps, who attempted to hold him back, he rushed down the steps and in a few minutes was in the thickest of the fray.
He fought his way through the crowd like a mad-man, soon reaching the point where he had seen Femke. She, however, had disappeared. A man with flashy cap and sailor’s jacket, who from above had looked like her escort, was still contending with the crowd. It seemed as if the two had come arm in arm through Amstel Street.
“Is there a girl here with a North Holland cap on?”
The man was too busy fighting and wrestling for standing-room to make answer. Meanwhile, Walter noticed that the fellow was struggling toward the “Herberge,” and concluded that his lady must have taken refuge there.
Walter paid no more attention to the punches and blows he received. He was only concerned to give as many blows as were necessary to hasten his arrival at the restaurant. The place was about as badly crowded as the street, but there was no fighting going on.
Yes, Walter had made a good beginning: yesterday in the “Polish Coffeehouse,” to-day in the “Juniper Berry”—thrown in there, fighting his way in here.
He was in the restaurant at last, looking for Femke. Now he thought that he had discovered her, standing on a step, or something of the kind. With lips tightly closed, her arms crossed, the girl was looking quietly down on the multitude as if in silent contempt. The rim was torn from her cap and was hanging down.Walter thought that he even saw blood on her face—Femke’s dear face!
He was exhausted and could not reach her. He looked at her. She did not see him.
She stood there proud and haughty. He called to her. She did not hear.
“O God! she despises me. I deserve it for my cowardice at Holsma’s.”
“Boy,” said the woman behind the bar, “we don’t have any bellowing here. If you want to bellow go to your mother.”
Easier said than done. He couldn’t move a peg, such was the press. He was shoved against the counter; and it was impossible for him to keep sight of Femke. The tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“What are you doing in such a crowd anyway?” continued the woman, “when you’re so weak. You look as flimsy as a dish-rag. What have you been doing? Let me give you a glass of cognac.”
He would have been only too glad to pay for his place; but, as he “received at home everything that he needed,” he did not have the wherewithal. Still, there was no danger of his being thrown out. The crowd, which was threatening to expend its remaining energy in destroying the liquids of the place, was now occupying the barmaid’s attention. I should say Mrs. Goremest’s attention. She was the proprietress.
The girl continued to hold her position of advantage. There was something scornful in her features. “Who dares!” she seemed to say.
Walter was feeling bad. She looked over in hisdirection, but without seeing him. He called; but she did not hear.
Then the fellow with the flashy cap and sailor jacket appeared in the door. He had not been one of the belligerents; but he had suffered the fate of neutral powers. As his clothing testified, both parties had been his enemies.
So intent was the fellow on getting in that he did not even take time to return the shoves and cuffs that he received. Twice, three times he was crowded back; for where so many want the same thing, it isn’t easy to obtain. Nevertheless, he had one advantage over the others, who sought only a resting-place and a glass of liquor. He was incited by something else.
Walter hoped with all his heart that the fellow would succeed in reaching Femke. She looked so lonely in the midst of that wild mob. If he had been stronger, he would have—but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Wouldn’t she push him off, just as she did the insolent fellow who first caught hold of her apron?
The girl seemed now to spy the sailor. She nodded to him and smiled, as if to encourage him. Or was she thanking him for his fidelity? Her smile bore the message that she was uninjured, and fearless. Yes, she stood there a statute of repose.
The sailor nodded back.
He would never have denied her, Walter thought.
Mrs. Goremest happened to see the new arrival; and, from the way she greeted him, he seemed to be a frequent visitor to her place:
“Hello, Klaas. Are you there too? You’re out of breath, aren’t you?”
She gave orders to let him through, and even came out a few steps and helped open up the way for him.
Thus it happened that Klaas Verlaan found standing-room at the counter not far from Walter.
“Well, they’ve made the most of you!”
He saw it the same way. He was never certain of a moment’s recreation before bedtime. Walter, as well as the girl who still maintained her elevated position in the corner, agreed with the bar-woman’s verdict.
“Had a good day?” continued the woman. “It was bad about the boat-race.”
Klaas placed his finger on his mouth, as if he were going to tell her a secret. He wanted to tell of an adventure with Princess Erika.
“A glass of corn?” translated the bar-woman, but without guessing the right thing.
“Half and half?”
“Nor that either.”
“Red?”
This time Klaas was particularly dainty and hard to please. He declined regularly whatever she suggested and continued to exert himself to draw her into a more confidential talk. He had had the pleasure of pulling Princess Erika out of the water.
On the outside they were still singing, “Amour à la plus belle.”
“The devil take those Welsh songs!” cried one of the drinkers. “We are Dutchmen forever!”
“Yes, we are Dutchman forever——”
“And our prince——”
“Sh!”
“I will sing what I please; and, if anybody doesn’t want to sing”—he struck himself on the chest, and the whole party was Dutch and enthusiastic over royalty. “Our Prince” was sung lustily, and to a finish.
“Hurrah!”
“Yes, when we were still true Dutchmen——”
“Yes, when we were still true Dutchmen——”
“And under the republic!”
“Long live the republic!”
“You all ought to have seen a yacht-race then.”
“And our prince——”
“Under the republic all men were equal.”
“Equal. No difference at all.”
“Down with the tyrants!”
“They’re not a bit better than we are!”
“They suck the life out of the people.”
“Yes, they bleed us.”
“And why? Because you’re all cowardly dogs.”
“Yes, they’re all cowardly dogs.”
“You put your necks under the yoke.”
“Whenever a king comes around, or an emperor, or a prince, then all of you are so frightened you tremble like an aspen leaf.”
“Yes, like an aspen leaf!”
“If you fellows were——”
“All men are born free.”
“Yes, we were born free and equal.”
“And true Dutch hearts—what say you, Mrs. Goremest?What do you think, that’s a daughter of M’neer——”
The name died on the speaker’s lips. He became pale.
“A daughter of M’neer——!”
“Certainly. Ask Verlaan.”
Verlaan nodded.
“Is that so, Klaas? Really and truly? Why then does she stand there dressed that way—like an ordinary girl?”
“Oh, those clothes came from my Gertie, you know. Rich people have——”
“Come, boys, we must go home now. Mother Goremest needs sleep, too. We are not made of iron; we are flesh and blood.”
“Down with the tyrants! We were born free. True Dutch hearts——”
“Sh! The young lady——”
“What? That girl? What then?”
“Sh! The daughter of—but don’t say a word. Damme if it isn’t so—the daughter of M’neer—Kopperlith!”
“Kopperlith onKeizersgracht? What are you talking about, man! Kopperlith—onKeizersgracht!”
“Yes, of course. Come, we’re going.”
“His daughter? His——natural daughter?”
“That’s right. You understand it now; but keep quiet about it.”
The true Dutch hearts and republicans paid and left the bar.
It was a sudden whim of Klaas Verlaan’s to make his ward a child ofKeizersgracht; but it broughthim in more ducats than he cared to admit afterward.
Kopperlith? Kopperlith? onKeizersgracht? Femke onKeizersgracht! And on the day after to-morrow he was to begin work for this wealthy gentleman.
His head swam. Was he still Walter Pieterse? He doubted it. Before he had quite come to himself, he was forced through the door with other late stragglers. It was time for Mrs. Goremest to close.
The street was comparatively quiet now. Walter remained near the “Herberge,” which to him was a sort of temple where his Goddess was being worshiped. Now and then somebody else was pitched out the door, who would have been glad to stay longer. It was not every day that one got an opportunity to see a daughter of M’neer Kopperlith. Some wanted to join the triumvirate of Verlaan, the republican speaker, and Mrs. Goremest; but the three felt themselves strong enough to do the work and share the rewards.
At last the outflow ceased, and Walter was just going to peep through the curtains of the glass door, when the door opened again and the republican emerged. Walter heard Klaas call to him:
“There on the corner in Paarden Street, you know.If it costs a dollar more, that’s all right. Tell the cabby——”
Walter understood. The republican was to get a cab—for Femke?
Walter waited. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Goremest had locked the door and drawn the curtains, so that it was impossible for him to look in now.
In a short time a carriage drove up, and the republican sprang out of it. The door of Mrs. Goremest’s establishment opened again, and Klaas Verlaan with the ostensible daughter of Kopperlith appeared.
“Femke, I am here!” Walter cried, hurrying to her. “I am here. Oh, Femke, don’t go with the strange men!”
“What in the devil are you doing here again!” snorted Verlaan, seizing Walter by the collar to pull him back into the restaurant. “What do you want? And who are you?”
“Femke, don’t go with the strange men. I will take you home, I, Walter.”
“The boy is weak in the upper story,” affirmed Mrs. Goremest. “He’s been bellowing around her the whole evening like a calf, and he hasn’t spent a doit.”
Walter reached for Femke’s hand; and then he noticed how curiously she was rigged out. She was completely covered. Of her head, face, shoulders, figure—nothing was to be seen. Mrs. Goremest had contributed her cloak; but what would one not do for a Kopperlith? Still, she was saving: Only the stump of one tallow candle was burning. It flickered strangely, giving to everything a ghostly appearance.
“Is it you, Erich?” the girl asked.
“Femke, Femke, for God’s sake, don’t go with those strange men!”
Tearing himself away from Verlaan, he threw himself at Femke’s feet. He pulled aside her cloak and covered her hand with tears and kisses.
“Just like I tell you,” declared Mrs. Goremest. “The boy is as crazy as a bedbug.”
“Femke, I will never deny you again. Strike me, tread on me, kill me, but—don’t go with those strange men.”
“Light!” cried the girl peremptorily—a word that even a Dutchman understands.
The republican took the candle from the counter and held it so that the light fell on Walter’s face. The boy was still kneeling. Through an opening in her hood the girl looked down on him and was silent. She did not withdraw the hand that Walter held closely pressed to his lips.
Verlaan made a motion as if to remove the intruder; but the girl stopped him with a look. Then she laid her free hand on Walter’s head, saying simply:
“My brother!”
“Anotherdescendantof Kopperlith!” growled the republican. The young people have strange ideas about how to spend the night.”
When Walter came to his senses, he was in the street again. The carriage had driven away—whether with her, or without her; whether with the two men, or without them—that he did not know. It made no difference to him: she had called him “brother,” seriously, solemnly. She had spoken clearly and distinctly.
“O God! I thank thee. Thou art kind and compassionate. I didn’t know that Femke could speak like that. She must have felt it down in her heart.”
To-morrow, he thought, he would become immensely wealthy—in “business”—and, of course, he was going to be a king again, and still more: For Femke he would be more than a brother! JuffrouwLaps had awakened in him—well, something, he did not know himself what it was. His heart rejoiced; he walked upon stilts, as tired as he was, and wondered that his head did not bump against the clouds.
Chapter XXIXFor anyone in Walter’s present mood, there are only two things in the world; self, and—nothingness!Walter looked about him. “Butter Market,” he read on a sign. He noticed that in the street socks could be bought, wagons hired, etc., etc.But what did it all mean? Nothing. He had kissed Femke’s hand!It is too bad that the world did not sink out of existence on that summer night.If Walter had noticed such an occurrence, he might have asked if Femke was hurt; otherwise the phenomenon would not have disturbed him.The reader will understand, of course, that on this eventful night the world did not go down.Walter forgave the sun for rising. He even excused the Butter Market for being such a hot place; but it was difficult for him to convince himself that it was not all a dream.A new feeling took possession of him. His ambitious plans of a material nature receded into the background of consciousness. His one desire now was to love Femke—and win her love. Those continents that were expecting salvation from him might wait.He thought of Femke and her soft hand. Never had her hand felt like that. Formerly it had seemedharder and rougher; but, of course, he had just been mistaken about it. He imagined, too, that hitherto he had not marked her voice well, nor her carriage. Surely, he had never seen the true Femke till to-night—better, this morning.But—Klaas Verlaan and his rough companions! What did all that gab about M’neer Kopperlith mean? There were other questions too; but—Femke had called him brother; and that was one thing which with him was as firm as the rock of Gibraltar.Brooding thus, he slipped along through the streets. Weak and tired, he came to the “Dam.” Here he saw a long row of carriages. The coachmen sat in their places waiting for the princely guests, who had wanted to see a Holland sunrise. The sun was already in sight; but there were no princes and princesses to see him. A few laborers were looking on indifferently.Yesterday Walter would have exerted himself to see a live, fullgrown king, just to find out if he looked like Macbeth, or Arthur, or Lear. To-day he was so tired that kings did not interest him.He was just starting on, when the coachmen suddenly assumed a rigid attitude. A boy remarked that “they” were coming now. He was right: they did come; and all, except one old lady, drove away so rapidly that scarcely anyone saw them. She touched her coachman on the shoulder.“She has forgotten something,” said the boy.Three or four cavaliers stormed back into the palace and brought her fan. While they were gone, the boys wondered at the pimples on her face. Walter’spictures had had nothing of that kind. How different Femke’s face was!Walter trudged along further; and, without thinking of where he was going, he came to the meadow where Femke and her mother dried their clothes. He sat down on the grass, intending to wait for the first signs of life in Femke’s home. He was not certain that she was there; he did not know but that she might still be at Holsma’s; but there would be somebody there.Overcome by weariness he lay down and gradually fell asleep. His cap came off, rolled down into the ditch and disappeared in the mud.If anyone passed by, he remarked that there lay a drunken fellow. Yes, youth begins early. Possibly the fellow was sick; but then the police would take care of him. Nobody hurt him; nobody touched him. His dreams were undisturbed.He dreamed of various things; but the principal object of his dreams was a young girl, who was standing on a platform playing ball with heavy men, as if that were nothing. Suddenly it was little Sietske Holsma.Then in his dreams he heard a voice:“Goodness, boy, how did you get here?”At first the voice was far away, then nearer, and finally quite near. He had the dim impression that somebody was pulling him up to a sitting posture.“Sietske!” he whispered, still sleeping.“Yes, that’s my name. How did you know it?”“Sietske——!”“Why, certainly. Who told you? And what areyou doing here. It isn’t very respectable. Are you drunk? And so young, too.”He called Sietske’s name again.“You may call me by my first name, if you want to; but how does it come? Did Femke tell you? It’s a real disgrace to lie here like a hog. What were you going to say?”Walter rubbed his eyes and felt of his head. “I would like to wash myself,” he said, not yet wide awake.“All right,” cried Mrs. Claus. “And you’re not hurt, are you? Where is your cap?”“Wash—with cold water,” Walter said.“Good! Come to the pump with me.” She led him through the house and across the back yard.“You needn’t be afraid to undress here; nobody can see you. But how did you happen to call me by my first name all at once. Not that I’m offended at all.”Walter was still too much asleep to recall what had happened to him during the past few hours; so he only said that he had a headache and must wash himself first.Mrs. Claus, noticing that he was ashamed to undress, hung some quilts on the fence, thus converting the yard into a sort of room. It never occurred to her that her own presence might embarrass him. Walter was still not quite pleased with the outlook for a bath; but since yesterday he had been thinking of other things as strange.He began to strip, allowing Mrs. Claus to help him, just as if he had been fifteen years younger than he was. To Mrs. Claus he was only a child.She laid him on a bench under the spout and began to pump. At the first drops he shivered; then the water flooded his head and shoulders. He could neither see nor speak. His efforts to speak she interpreted as calls for more water.“Yes, this will be good for you.” Her words were drowned by the splashing water.“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Do you think that will be enough now? I’ve pumped till I’ve got a pain in my side. But if you think that——”She stopped all at once, but still held on to the pump handle, as if to show her willingness to continue.“I forgot entirely to”—she began pumping again—“wash you off with green soap. Femke always washes herself with it. It makes the skin nice and smooth.—You ought to see your back now. It shines like a looking-glass.”Walter wanted to say something but couldn’t.“Yes, and your forehead, too. It’s the green soap that does it. I guess your mother never washes you with green soap, does she? Then one must scour and scrub and rub. But, if you are not used to soap——”She lifted that terrible pump handle again.“I believe this will be about enough,” Walter blubbered. His mouth was so full of water that again Mrs. Claus did not understand him.“Green soap is good for corns, and for rheumatism.” She was pumping away for dear life.Walter finally succeeded in rescuing himself and the bench from that destructive stream of water. He was now able to make his cries for mercy understood; buthe was not yet able to get up. Besides, the good woman had hung his clothes out of his reach, and he was ashamed. He remained sitting.“Do you want anything else?” inquired the water nymph.“No, no, no!” he answered quickly. She was already lifting the pump-handle again. “But——”The simple, innocent woman did not understand; and, when he continued to sit there like a helpless lump of misery, she asked:“Do you have a pain anywhere?”“No, I haven’t any pains.”“Are you tired?”He was still tired, and said so.“And I woke you up! I’ll tell you what, you must go to sleep and take a good nap.”She began drying him off, as if that were a usual thing in her day’s work. Then she rolled him up in a sheet and carried him off like a sack of clothes. He could not but notice the way she laid him down. Then she covered him warmly.“Straighten out your legs, my boy.”Walter did as she said, and experienced an indescribable feeling of comfort. And when she punched him and patted him and tucked him in, and said: “Poor child, you can sleep good now. This is Femke’s bed, you know——” then he was more than comfortable; he was delighted.When he awakened at about four o’clock in the afternoon he heard whispering voices. He listened, at first to find out where he was, and then to understand what was being said.It seemed as if there were a plot further to confuse Sietske with Femke in his mind.“Yes, Sietske; but what does he mean by lying out like that? If I were his mother——”The answer was:“Cousin, I don’t suppose his mother knows about it. Hermann did the same thing once. That’s the way boys are.”Oho! Sietske was there; and Mrs. Claus was her cousin, and her name was Sietske too! And that girl—there in Mrs. Goremest’s place?His thoughts became more and more confused; though physically he felt well.How would it do, he thought, to tear a little piece out of the sheet, so as to be able to examine it to-morrow and make certain of himself and his adventures?If he had been accustomed to fine bedlinen at home, he might now have taken an especial pleasure in Mrs. Claus’s extremely rough homemade linen. Hm! He had always dreamed of princesses sleeping on embroidered silk, among diamonds and pearls! He did not yet know that it is possible to conceive royal and imperial highnesses otherwise at night, and that perhaps a princess might sometimes be willing to tousle Femke’s bed.He looked about the room. There was another small bed, where, he supposed, Femke’s mother slept. Across the room was the chimney. Here were small shelves decorated with works of art. Walter noticed the “resurrection of Lazarus.” Four chairs were in the room. One was standing by his bed, and on it his clothes were carefully arranged.In the middle of the room stood a table; and the drawer was partly open. It was too full. Father Jansen’s woolen socks were peeping out while they waited for repairs. Walter wondered if those other objectionable articles were there too.On the wall, at the head of his bed, hung a crucifix, with a small basin of holy water. With that she crosses herself, he thought. He stuck his hand into it: it was dry. The whole arrangement was fastened to an embroidered piece of cardboard, and, when he touched it, something fell from behind it.It looked like a large-sized letter. Walter picked it up and looked for the address. He felt that it must be a letter from Femke to him. Then he reproached himself, and, trembling with emotion, restored the piece of paper to its place. He had held it up to the light: it was the Ophelia that he had presented her after his illness! She had treasured the picture together with the most sacred thing she possessed.He was wide awake now; but who wouldn’t wake up on receiving a letter from Heaven?He dressed himself and went into the other room, where he supposed Mrs. Claus and Sietske were. Not a soul was to be seen. For the first time it occurred to him that after those few words he had heard nothing more. The girl had surely visited her “cousin” and then gone away.But Mrs. Claus herself? Perhaps she, too, had gone away. This was the case; however, she had not gone out without leaving behind her a peculiar sign of her uncouth character and lack of refinement. On a small table, before which stood an inviting chair,lay two pieces of bread and butter of her standard make. Beside them was a pot of coffee. To be sure, it was cold now; but—well, Walter acted quickly “according to his convictions.”Other thoughts now forced themselves on his mind. The “House of Pieterse” appeared to his mind’s eye as a menacing waterspout. In the face of this danger difficult questions that had been clamoring for answer had to be forgotten.To go home? For heaven’s sake, no!His mother, Stoffel, his sisters—all had turned into Macbethan witches. In his imagination, even Leentje had deserted him and was asking him to beg forgiveness for his shameful behavior. He thought of the prodigal son; though he knew that no calf, fat or otherwise, would be slaughtered on his return.Sakkerloot!I haven’t done anything wrong; I haven’t squandered anything—not a doit of my inheritance! Have I allowed the wine to run out? Not a drop!But something must have been the matter; for—he did not dare to go home.Have I had any pleasure? Have I enjoyed any feast with four young ladies? No! Have I allowed hounds to run around loose in the banquet-hall? Have I had any negro servant to hold my horse?There he took his stand. And he stayed there. Of camels and girls and wine he felt that he was innocent; but himself, and his adventures of the night, he was unable further to explain.“I wish I were a crumb of bread,” he sighed, as hestuck one into his mouth, “then I would know where I belong.”Doubtless the first crumb of bread that was ever envied by a ruler.Go to America?Yes, if he only had those hundred florins that Mr. Motto had relieved him of. Of course that worthy gentleman was now living like a prince on the money. At least, Juffrouw Pieterse had said as much. But, even if he had the money, he could not go away and leave Mrs. Claus’s house to the mercy of stray thieves and robbers. In a way, hadn’t he on yesterday evening taken the field against robbers?Besides, he had no cap. There was nothing in sight that looked like a hat. Yes—there hung a North Holland cap!Femke? America?
For anyone in Walter’s present mood, there are only two things in the world; self, and—nothingness!
Walter looked about him. “Butter Market,” he read on a sign. He noticed that in the street socks could be bought, wagons hired, etc., etc.
But what did it all mean? Nothing. He had kissed Femke’s hand!
It is too bad that the world did not sink out of existence on that summer night.
If Walter had noticed such an occurrence, he might have asked if Femke was hurt; otherwise the phenomenon would not have disturbed him.
The reader will understand, of course, that on this eventful night the world did not go down.
Walter forgave the sun for rising. He even excused the Butter Market for being such a hot place; but it was difficult for him to convince himself that it was not all a dream.
A new feeling took possession of him. His ambitious plans of a material nature receded into the background of consciousness. His one desire now was to love Femke—and win her love. Those continents that were expecting salvation from him might wait.
He thought of Femke and her soft hand. Never had her hand felt like that. Formerly it had seemedharder and rougher; but, of course, he had just been mistaken about it. He imagined, too, that hitherto he had not marked her voice well, nor her carriage. Surely, he had never seen the true Femke till to-night—better, this morning.
But—Klaas Verlaan and his rough companions! What did all that gab about M’neer Kopperlith mean? There were other questions too; but—Femke had called him brother; and that was one thing which with him was as firm as the rock of Gibraltar.
Brooding thus, he slipped along through the streets. Weak and tired, he came to the “Dam.” Here he saw a long row of carriages. The coachmen sat in their places waiting for the princely guests, who had wanted to see a Holland sunrise. The sun was already in sight; but there were no princes and princesses to see him. A few laborers were looking on indifferently.
Yesterday Walter would have exerted himself to see a live, fullgrown king, just to find out if he looked like Macbeth, or Arthur, or Lear. To-day he was so tired that kings did not interest him.
He was just starting on, when the coachmen suddenly assumed a rigid attitude. A boy remarked that “they” were coming now. He was right: they did come; and all, except one old lady, drove away so rapidly that scarcely anyone saw them. She touched her coachman on the shoulder.
“She has forgotten something,” said the boy.
Three or four cavaliers stormed back into the palace and brought her fan. While they were gone, the boys wondered at the pimples on her face. Walter’spictures had had nothing of that kind. How different Femke’s face was!
Walter trudged along further; and, without thinking of where he was going, he came to the meadow where Femke and her mother dried their clothes. He sat down on the grass, intending to wait for the first signs of life in Femke’s home. He was not certain that she was there; he did not know but that she might still be at Holsma’s; but there would be somebody there.
Overcome by weariness he lay down and gradually fell asleep. His cap came off, rolled down into the ditch and disappeared in the mud.
If anyone passed by, he remarked that there lay a drunken fellow. Yes, youth begins early. Possibly the fellow was sick; but then the police would take care of him. Nobody hurt him; nobody touched him. His dreams were undisturbed.
He dreamed of various things; but the principal object of his dreams was a young girl, who was standing on a platform playing ball with heavy men, as if that were nothing. Suddenly it was little Sietske Holsma.
Then in his dreams he heard a voice:
“Goodness, boy, how did you get here?”
At first the voice was far away, then nearer, and finally quite near. He had the dim impression that somebody was pulling him up to a sitting posture.
“Sietske!” he whispered, still sleeping.
“Yes, that’s my name. How did you know it?”
“Sietske——!”
“Why, certainly. Who told you? And what areyou doing here. It isn’t very respectable. Are you drunk? And so young, too.”
He called Sietske’s name again.
“You may call me by my first name, if you want to; but how does it come? Did Femke tell you? It’s a real disgrace to lie here like a hog. What were you going to say?”
Walter rubbed his eyes and felt of his head. “I would like to wash myself,” he said, not yet wide awake.
“All right,” cried Mrs. Claus. “And you’re not hurt, are you? Where is your cap?”
“Wash—with cold water,” Walter said.
“Good! Come to the pump with me.” She led him through the house and across the back yard.
“You needn’t be afraid to undress here; nobody can see you. But how did you happen to call me by my first name all at once. Not that I’m offended at all.”
Walter was still too much asleep to recall what had happened to him during the past few hours; so he only said that he had a headache and must wash himself first.
Mrs. Claus, noticing that he was ashamed to undress, hung some quilts on the fence, thus converting the yard into a sort of room. It never occurred to her that her own presence might embarrass him. Walter was still not quite pleased with the outlook for a bath; but since yesterday he had been thinking of other things as strange.
He began to strip, allowing Mrs. Claus to help him, just as if he had been fifteen years younger than he was. To Mrs. Claus he was only a child.
She laid him on a bench under the spout and began to pump. At the first drops he shivered; then the water flooded his head and shoulders. He could neither see nor speak. His efforts to speak she interpreted as calls for more water.
“Yes, this will be good for you.” Her words were drowned by the splashing water.
“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Do you think that will be enough now? I’ve pumped till I’ve got a pain in my side. But if you think that——”
She stopped all at once, but still held on to the pump handle, as if to show her willingness to continue.
“I forgot entirely to”—she began pumping again—“wash you off with green soap. Femke always washes herself with it. It makes the skin nice and smooth.—You ought to see your back now. It shines like a looking-glass.”
Walter wanted to say something but couldn’t.
“Yes, and your forehead, too. It’s the green soap that does it. I guess your mother never washes you with green soap, does she? Then one must scour and scrub and rub. But, if you are not used to soap——”
She lifted that terrible pump handle again.
“I believe this will be about enough,” Walter blubbered. His mouth was so full of water that again Mrs. Claus did not understand him.
“Green soap is good for corns, and for rheumatism.” She was pumping away for dear life.
Walter finally succeeded in rescuing himself and the bench from that destructive stream of water. He was now able to make his cries for mercy understood; buthe was not yet able to get up. Besides, the good woman had hung his clothes out of his reach, and he was ashamed. He remained sitting.
“Do you want anything else?” inquired the water nymph.
“No, no, no!” he answered quickly. She was already lifting the pump-handle again. “But——”
The simple, innocent woman did not understand; and, when he continued to sit there like a helpless lump of misery, she asked:
“Do you have a pain anywhere?”
“No, I haven’t any pains.”
“Are you tired?”
He was still tired, and said so.
“And I woke you up! I’ll tell you what, you must go to sleep and take a good nap.”
She began drying him off, as if that were a usual thing in her day’s work. Then she rolled him up in a sheet and carried him off like a sack of clothes. He could not but notice the way she laid him down. Then she covered him warmly.
“Straighten out your legs, my boy.”
Walter did as she said, and experienced an indescribable feeling of comfort. And when she punched him and patted him and tucked him in, and said: “Poor child, you can sleep good now. This is Femke’s bed, you know——” then he was more than comfortable; he was delighted.
When he awakened at about four o’clock in the afternoon he heard whispering voices. He listened, at first to find out where he was, and then to understand what was being said.
It seemed as if there were a plot further to confuse Sietske with Femke in his mind.
“Yes, Sietske; but what does he mean by lying out like that? If I were his mother——”
The answer was:
“Cousin, I don’t suppose his mother knows about it. Hermann did the same thing once. That’s the way boys are.”
Oho! Sietske was there; and Mrs. Claus was her cousin, and her name was Sietske too! And that girl—there in Mrs. Goremest’s place?
His thoughts became more and more confused; though physically he felt well.
How would it do, he thought, to tear a little piece out of the sheet, so as to be able to examine it to-morrow and make certain of himself and his adventures?
If he had been accustomed to fine bedlinen at home, he might now have taken an especial pleasure in Mrs. Claus’s extremely rough homemade linen. Hm! He had always dreamed of princesses sleeping on embroidered silk, among diamonds and pearls! He did not yet know that it is possible to conceive royal and imperial highnesses otherwise at night, and that perhaps a princess might sometimes be willing to tousle Femke’s bed.
He looked about the room. There was another small bed, where, he supposed, Femke’s mother slept. Across the room was the chimney. Here were small shelves decorated with works of art. Walter noticed the “resurrection of Lazarus.” Four chairs were in the room. One was standing by his bed, and on it his clothes were carefully arranged.
In the middle of the room stood a table; and the drawer was partly open. It was too full. Father Jansen’s woolen socks were peeping out while they waited for repairs. Walter wondered if those other objectionable articles were there too.
On the wall, at the head of his bed, hung a crucifix, with a small basin of holy water. With that she crosses herself, he thought. He stuck his hand into it: it was dry. The whole arrangement was fastened to an embroidered piece of cardboard, and, when he touched it, something fell from behind it.
It looked like a large-sized letter. Walter picked it up and looked for the address. He felt that it must be a letter from Femke to him. Then he reproached himself, and, trembling with emotion, restored the piece of paper to its place. He had held it up to the light: it was the Ophelia that he had presented her after his illness! She had treasured the picture together with the most sacred thing she possessed.
He was wide awake now; but who wouldn’t wake up on receiving a letter from Heaven?
He dressed himself and went into the other room, where he supposed Mrs. Claus and Sietske were. Not a soul was to be seen. For the first time it occurred to him that after those few words he had heard nothing more. The girl had surely visited her “cousin” and then gone away.
But Mrs. Claus herself? Perhaps she, too, had gone away. This was the case; however, she had not gone out without leaving behind her a peculiar sign of her uncouth character and lack of refinement. On a small table, before which stood an inviting chair,lay two pieces of bread and butter of her standard make. Beside them was a pot of coffee. To be sure, it was cold now; but—well, Walter acted quickly “according to his convictions.”
Other thoughts now forced themselves on his mind. The “House of Pieterse” appeared to his mind’s eye as a menacing waterspout. In the face of this danger difficult questions that had been clamoring for answer had to be forgotten.
To go home? For heaven’s sake, no!
His mother, Stoffel, his sisters—all had turned into Macbethan witches. In his imagination, even Leentje had deserted him and was asking him to beg forgiveness for his shameful behavior. He thought of the prodigal son; though he knew that no calf, fat or otherwise, would be slaughtered on his return.
Sakkerloot!I haven’t done anything wrong; I haven’t squandered anything—not a doit of my inheritance! Have I allowed the wine to run out? Not a drop!
But something must have been the matter; for—he did not dare to go home.
Have I had any pleasure? Have I enjoyed any feast with four young ladies? No! Have I allowed hounds to run around loose in the banquet-hall? Have I had any negro servant to hold my horse?
There he took his stand. And he stayed there. Of camels and girls and wine he felt that he was innocent; but himself, and his adventures of the night, he was unable further to explain.
“I wish I were a crumb of bread,” he sighed, as hestuck one into his mouth, “then I would know where I belong.”
Doubtless the first crumb of bread that was ever envied by a ruler.
Go to America?
Yes, if he only had those hundred florins that Mr. Motto had relieved him of. Of course that worthy gentleman was now living like a prince on the money. At least, Juffrouw Pieterse had said as much. But, even if he had the money, he could not go away and leave Mrs. Claus’s house to the mercy of stray thieves and robbers. In a way, hadn’t he on yesterday evening taken the field against robbers?
Besides, he had no cap. There was nothing in sight that looked like a hat. Yes—there hung a North Holland cap!
Femke? America?