“A parasite, a parasite—I’m a parasite,” and he ran off screaming, making a detour in order to avoid the street where Cecilia’s father had a second-hand store. Oh, if she had seen him running through the street crying like a baby—that would have been worse than the breeches pulled up over his jacket!
A parasite, a parasite!
He met lots of grown-up people who perhaps were parasites, but they were not bawling on this account.
Parasite!
He saw a policeman, and caught his breath when he got by him, surprised that the man hadn’t arrested him.
Parasite!
Then came a street-sweeper with his cart, who seemed to rattle that hateful word after him.
Our little sufferer remembered that the Halleman boys had once told him what a fortune could be made by peddling peppermint drops. For twenty-four stivers one could buy a big sack full. By selling so and so many for a doit, the profit would be enormous. If one only had the capital to begin! The Hallemans had calculated everything very exactly; for they were not only very respectable, but also very cunning. Cunningness and respectability usually go hand in hand. They had said, all that was needed was the capital. They would attend to laying in the stock, and would assume all responsibility for the sale of the same. If Walter would chip in just a florin, they could raise the rest and all would go well.
Parasite.... Parasite....
Walter slipped a florin from his mother’s box of savings and brought it to the Halleman boys, who were so remarkably respectable.