“But,” he heard his mother saying again, “what has happened to you?”
“What has happened? I am beside myself. Don’t you see how I’m trembling? The city is full of murderers!”
“My goodness! How can I help it?”
“You can’t. But I am beside myself, and I want to ask your advice. Do they all go to bed so early?—Stoffel—and Laurens—all of them? Look, how I’m shaking. Do you suppose I dare go back to my room?”
“Why not? Do you think you’re going to be murdered?”
“Yes. I do think it! The murderers of that old woman and of the servant-girl are still on the war-path. Yesterday at the illumination how many watches did they steal? And the police—what do they do? Nothing, nothing! Yes, they watch you to see if you beat a rug in the morning after ten o’clock. That’s what the police do. They don’t bother murderers.”
“What do you know about the murderers? It’s your duty to report them if you know them.”
Walter put on his vest and wrapped his muffler around his neck.
“What I know about them! They are besieging me in my own house. Isn’t that pretty rough? I went out at noon to see the boat race on the Amstel; but there was nothing to see, because there was no wind. And such a crowd! All the kings were there, and the visiting princes and princesses, you know; and everybody stared at the carriages, and I did too. Not that I care anything about a king. Goodness, no! For he is only a worm in God’s hand, and when the Master doesn’t aid him—all is vanity, vanity. Dust and ashes—that’s all. But I looked at the carriages, you know, and at the horses, and at the staring crowd. I thought to myself, I will fry the potatoes when I go home. They had been left over from dinner; and when there are any potatoes left over, you know, I always fry them for supper. There was a big crowd, and all were mad because there was no wind; for people are foolish about pleasure and never think of the Master. Worldly, worldly, they were—and the princes and princesses. I thought, well, it’s no wonder that there’s so much robbery and murder; for they try God’s patience. I thought, God will punish you; He’s only abiding His time. He always does it, Juffrouw Pieterse! A lady—the creature had red pimples on her face, and was older than you—what do you suppose she had on her head? A turban! She rode in a carriage with four horses. What do you think of that? She was playing with a fan; and, when a prince rode up to her carriage, she stuck out her hand and let the fan go up and down three times. And the prince did that way three times. Were they crazy, or not? What will the Master say to that? If He only doesn’t send a pestilence on us!”
“Yes, but the murderers—what did they do to you?”