“He can laugh!” thought the boy.
Chapter II
Van der Welcke had dressed and breakfasted and, because he felt bored, took his bicycle and went for a long ride by himself. He was very often bored these days, now that Addie was working hard at the grammar-school. Without his boy, he seemed at once to have nothing to do, no object in life; he could see no reason for his existence. He would smoke endless cigarettes in his den, or go bicycling, or turn up once in a way at the Plaats, once in a way at the Witte; but he did not go to either of his clubs as often as he used to. He saw much less of his friends, his friends of former days, the men of birth and position who had all won fame in their respective spheres, though Van Vreeswijck continued his visits regularly, appreciating the cosy little dinners. Van der Welcke generally felt lonely and stranded, found his own company more and more boring from day to day; and it was only when he saw his boy come back from school that he cheered up, enjoyed life, was glad and lively as a child.
He loved the quick movement of it; and he cycled and cycled along the lonely, chill, windy country-roads, aiming at no destination, just pedalling away for the sake of speed, for the sake of covering the ground. If he were only rich: then he’d have a motor-car! There was nothing like a motor-car! A motor-car made up for this rotten, stodgy, boring life. To rush along the smooth roads in your car, to let her rip: tock, tock, tock, tock, tock-tock-tock-tock! Ha!... Ha!... That would be grand! Suppose his father were to make him a present of a car.... Ha!... Tock-tock-tock-tock!... And, as he spurted along, he suggested to himself the frantic orgy of speed of a puffing, snorting motor-car, the acrid stench of its petrol-fumes, the ready obedience of the pneumatic-tyred wheels while the car flew through the dust like a storm-chariot over the clouds. It made him poetic—tock-tock-tock-tock, tock-tock-tock-tock—but, as long as his father lived, he would never have enough money to buy himself a decent car!
Life was stodgy, rotten, boring.... If only Addie had finished school! But then ... then he would have to go to the university ... and into the diplomatic service.... No, no, the older his boy grew, the less he would see of him.... How wretched it all was: he did not know whether to wish that Addie was older or not!... To think, it wasn’t a year ago since the child used to sit on his knee, with his cheek against his father’s, his arm round his father’s neck; and Van der Welcke would feel that slight and yet sturdy frame against his heart; and now ... now already he was a lad, a chap with a deep voice, who ruled his father with a rod of iron! Yes, Van der Welcke was simply ruled by him: there was no getting away from it! Suppose he wanted to stay and dine at the Witte that night: why the blazes shouldn’t he? And he knew as sure as anything that he wouldn’t! He would come home like a good little boy, because Addie had rather he did, because otherwise Addie would look upon it as a manifestation against Constance.... She too was coming back, after Addie had written that it really wouldn’t do, financially. She had run away like a madwoman, two months ago, after that pleasant business at the last Sunday-evening which they had spent at Mamma van Lowe’s, after the furious scene which she had made him, Van der Welcke, because he wanted to hit their brother-in-law, Van Naghel, in the face. Mind, it was for her, for his wife’s sake, that he wanted to hit Van Naghel in the face. For her sake, because that pompous ass had dared to say that he wasn’t keen on Constance calling on Bertha’s at-home day ... but that in other respects they were brothers and sisters! The disgusting snob! That old woman, that non-entity, that rotter, that twopenny-halfpenny cabinet-minister, who had got on simply because old Van Lowe, in his day, had kicked him upstairs step by step!... Van der Welcke was still furious when he thought of the fellow, with his smooth face and his namby-pamby speeches. He hadn’t been able to control himself that time: his wife, at any rate, was his wife; his wife was Baroness van der Welcke; and he couldn’t stand it, that they should insult his wife and before his face too; and, if Paul had not prevented him, he would have struck the snobbish ass in the face, thrashed him, thrashed him, thrashed him! His blood still boiled at the thought of it.... Well, there it was! Paul had held him back ... but still, he would have liked to challenge the fellow, to have fought a duel with him!... He grinned—pedalling like mad, bending over like a record-breaker at the last lap of a bicycle-race—he grinned now when he thought of the despair of the whole family, because their revered brother-in-law Van Naghel, “his excellency,” whom they all looked up to with such reverence, might have to fight a duel with a brother-in-law who was already viewed with sufficient disfavour at the Hague!... Well, it hadn’t come off. They had all interfered; but it wasn’t for that reason, but because dear old Mamma van Lowe had taken to her bed—and also for Addie’s sake—that he had not insisted on the duel. Yes, those Dutchmen: they never wanted to fight if they could help it! He, Van der Welcke, would have liked to fight, though Van Naghel had been a thousand times his brother-in-law, a thousand times colonial secretary. And it wasn’t only that the whole family had thought the very idea of a duel so dreadful; but his wise son had interfered, had taken up a very severe attitude to his father, had reproached him because he—still “a young man,” as Addie put it in his amusing way—wanted to insult and strike a man of Uncle van Naghel’s age, even though it was for Mamma’s sake! And Addie had gone to Frans van Naghel, the eldest son, the undergraduate, of whom he was very fond; and Frans was furious, wanted to take his father’s place and fight in his stead. But Addie had said that Papa was in the wrong, that Papa had lost his self-control; and he had calmed Frans and told him, his father, positively, that it was his, Van der Welcke’s, duty to apologize to Uncle van Naghel! That boy, that boy, thought Van der Welcke, thinking half-angrily of his son’s perpetual tutelage. It was really too silly: if he didn’t look out, the brat would twist him round his little finger entirely. A little chap like that, a schoolboy of fourteen ... and yet the beggar had managed so that Frans did not challenge Van der Welcke and that Van der Welcke had sent Van Naghel a note of apology, a note the thought of which made him boil even now, made him rant and curse at the thought that he had let himself be persuaded by the fourteen-year-old schoolboy. And then he had had to express his regret to Mamma van Lowe into the bargain; but that he didn’t mind, for she was an old dear and he thought it too bad that the wretched affair should have made her ill. And so the fourteen-year-old schoolboy had succeeded in hushing up a Hague scandal, just like a grown-up man.... When you came to think of it, it was simply absurd, incredible; you would never have believed it if you read it in a book; and it was the positive truth: the schoolboy had prevented the cabinet-minister or his son from fighting a duel with the schoolboy’s father!... And now Van der Welcke had to choke with laughter at the thought of it; and, as he spurted along the roads, like a professional, with his back bent into an arch, he roared with laughter all by himself and thought:
“Lord, what an extraordinary beggar he is!”
But the boy’s mother, after scene upon scene with him, the father; his mother, furious that her husband should have dared to raise his hand against that revered brother-in-law, “his excellency;” his mother, driven out of her senses, with every nerve on edge after all that she had had to endure that Sunday: his mother the boy had not been able to restrain; a woman is always more difficult to manage than a man; a mother is not half so easy as a father! Constance, after one of those scenes which followed one upon the other as long as the atmosphere remained charged with electricity, had said:
“I’m sick of it all; I’m going away; I’m going abroad!”
And even the fact that she was leaving her son behind her did not bring her to reason. She packed her trunks, told Truitje to keep house for the master and Master Addie as she herself used to and went away, almost insolently, hardly even saying good-bye to Addie.... They thought at first that she would do something rash, goodness knows what, and were anxious because they didn’t know where Constance had gone; but the next day there was a telegram from Paris to reassure them, telling them that Constance was going to Nice and meant to stay some time. Then letters came from Nice and they had no more fears, nor had Mamma van Lowe; they all thought the change might even do her good; and she continued pretty sensible. She wrote to her mother, to Addie; she wrote to Truitje, impressing upon her to look after the house well and after the master and Master Addie and to see that everything was going on all right when her mistress returned. And this sensible, housewifely letter had done more than anything to reassure Mamma van Lowe and the two of them; and now they didn’t grudge Constance, Mamma, her trip, for once in a way. But it was an expensive amusement. Constance, it was true, had taken some money of her own with her; but still, since they had come to the Hague, Van der Welcke no longer made anything out of wine- and insurance-commissions; he was no longer an agent for the Brussels firms; and they had not much to live on and had to be very economical. And so Van der Welcke, after seven weeks had passed, was obliged to tell Addie that it wouldn’t do for Mamma to stay on at Nice, in an expensive hotel, and that he had better write to her. And the schoolboy had written asking his mother to come back now, telling his mother that that would have to do and that there was no money left. And Constance was coming home that evening.