“But the boys at school need not know it.”
“But the man would tell somebody and then—you don’t understand it. At the Diaconate school there was a fellow who wrote verses; and what has become of him? He went to India, mother, and he still owes me for half a bottle of ink. That’s the way it goes, mother. For me to write such a poem? No, no, mother—for a boy like Walter it’s all right; but when one is already a teacher!”
“And Master Pennewip?” cried Juffrouw Laps.
“The very man!” cried Stoffel, as if this supported his former argument. “A happy thought! Master Pennewip will do it.”
“I’ve read a poem by him, Stoffel.”
“Yes, yes. And you’ve read a poem by him. That’s because—but how shall I explain that to you, Juffrouw Laps? You know that in teaching there are all kinds of things. Take Geography, for example. I will just mention one fact: Madrid is on the Manganares. Understand, mother?”
“Yes, yes, Stoffel. That’s just as if you were to say——”
“Amsterdam on the Y. Exactly so. And then there are many, many more things, Juffrouw Laps. You have no idea how much there is of it. A grocer mixes sugar with something else. He must calculate exactly what he must get for a pound in order not to lose money. Think of it! And then you have partnership, and breakage, and the verbs—but I must go before those rascals break everything.”
Stoffel returned to school earlier than usual, without having diminished Juffrouw Laps’s difficulties very much. That poor woman could not comprehend how geography and Madrid and the grocer and partnerships made it impossible for Stoffel to write verses. Juffrouw Pieterse smoothed the matter over as well as she could and sent Juffrouw Laps to Master Pennewip.
That gentleman was alarmed when he saw the angry “sucking animal,” but he quieted down as soon as he heard the object of her visit.