Oh, fate, why did you put that sword in his hand and let him forget to remove that nightcap? Why didn’t you divide these two absurdities between Stoffel and Walter! Or why couldn’t you put that feathery diadem on the head of the sleeping Laurens? It would have been all the same to him how he looked in his sleep.
And I am, too. Towards Femke his chivalry had remained in the background; and now it must burst forth at a doubtful call from Juffrouw Laps!
In his anger he threw the weapon down violently and allowed it to rebound across the room. He slapped the nightcap on the table.
No one would have thought that the little man could be so vehement. His mother, with her usual solicitousness, inquired into the condition of his mind, asking if he was only cracked, or downright crazy.
“I tell you,” said the visitor, “you ought not to worry that child so much.”
“Go to bed at once!” cried the mother.
“Why can’t you let the child stay here? But—oh, yes! I was going to tell you about my potatoes.”
Walter stayed. For this privilege he was indebted to the general curiosity.
“Just imagine, when I came home about half past ten o’clock—I couldn’t get away earlier on account of the crush, you know. Don’t you know, I don’t care for these big occasions. Well, when I got home—the city is full of thieves, murderers, and that must not be forgotten—well, my potatoes were—what do you think my potatoes were? They were—gone!”