The prodigal in the picture didn’t seem to have thought of all that. Why wasn’t the Juffrouw in green silk with him? She will come soon, Walter said to himself. Perhaps she’s not quite through with her prodigality. If she would only hurry up and come! He longs for her. But that is the only annoyance that a genuine prodigal takes with him from the profane world into that capital wilderness.
It must be remarked in passing, however, that the hogs with which that picture was equipped looked ugly. The pious artist had made them shield-bearers of sin, and had supplied their physiognomies with all kinds of horrible features. And, too, the trough looked dirty.
If it happens to me, said Walter, I’ll take sheep with me; and Femke can card the wool.
The artist ought to admit that even this third picture is inadequate to inspire a proper disgust for prodigality.
And the fourth one? No better.
The old gentleman is excessively friendly. We are again in the colonnade, where the camels have just waited so patiently. One of the slaves clasps his hands and looks toward heaven—because he’s glad, of course, that little Walter has come back.
He? The real Walter? Returned home, and friendly received in his high rank of a “has-been” and “recovered” prodigal? Oh, no!
And that fatted calf! In direct opposition to the custom that was familiar to Walter! It worried the boy. Juffrouw Pieterse never slaughtered anything. She ran a weekly account with Keesje’s father; and even a roast was a rarity.
There was no prospect of a fatted calf, whether he became a prodigal or not. But that didn’t keep the rank of a prodigal from being higher than that of a stupid boy who didn’t know how to handle money.
He was encouraged to think that he was indebted to his friendly enemy, Juffrouw Laps, for something. She always cited the Bible, and spoke continually of feeding swine. Walter wanted to answer: “That’s very nice, Juffrouw Laps, but can’t it be sheep this time?”