The first thing she offered him, of course, was the fried potatoes, that dainty dish which the murderers had greedily made away with!
Walter was beginning to feel that the game wasn’t worth the candle. The adventure didn’t offer sufficient outlet for his chivalry. In fact, he thought something other than chivalry was necessary to face single-handed and alone those fried potatoes and Juffrouw Laps’s persistent attentions.
“Make yourself at home and eat all you want. Don’t be a bit embarrassed. Or would you rather take off your coat first? You know, you’re to stay all night with me.”
Walter preferred to keep on his coat for the present.
“And I have a dram for you, too, my boy—something extra. It’s from Fockink’s. You know where he has his distillery, there in that narrow street. You must never pass along there. Bad women live in that street. They stand at the doors and windows, don’t you know; and that isn’t good for a bachelor like you.”
Walter, the “bachelor,” looked surprised. He was abashed; though he was not displeased. This promotion was more flattering than going into “business.”
Still, he was embarrassed. Juffrouw Laps found it desirable, therefore, to continue along this line.
“Certainly, Walter, you’re a bachelor. Don’t you know that? It’s only because at home they treat you like a child. I tell you, you’re a bachelor, just as much so as anybody else. Do you think I like Stoffel as well as I do you? No, no, no! Not a bit of it! I like you lots better. Don’t you want a pipe to smoke? You are man enough for that. Of course you are; and why shouldn’t you smoke a pipe like other men?”
Men, men!
Walter answered that he couldn’t smoke yet. It cost him an effort to make the admission; but his first attempt to equal Stoffel in that respect had turned out badly.