His head swam. Was he still Walter Pieterse? He doubted it. Before he had quite come to himself, he was forced through the door with other late stragglers. It was time for Mrs. Goremest to close.
The street was comparatively quiet now. Walter remained near the “Herberge,” which to him was a sort of temple where his Goddess was being worshiped. Now and then somebody else was pitched out the door, who would have been glad to stay longer. It was not every day that one got an opportunity to see a daughter of M’neer Kopperlith. Some wanted to join the triumvirate of Verlaan, the republican speaker, and Mrs. Goremest; but the three felt themselves strong enough to do the work and share the rewards.
At last the outflow ceased, and Walter was just going to peep through the curtains of the glass door, when the door opened again and the republican emerged. Walter heard Klaas call to him:
“There on the corner in Paarden Street, you know. If it costs a dollar more, that’s all right. Tell the cabby——”
Walter understood. The republican was to get a cab—for Femke?
Walter waited. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Goremest had locked the door and drawn the curtains, so that it was impossible for him to look in now.
In a short time a carriage drove up, and the republican sprang out of it. The door of Mrs. Goremest’s establishment opened again, and Klaas Verlaan with the ostensible daughter of Kopperlith appeared.
“Femke, I am here!” Walter cried, hurrying to her. “I am here. Oh, Femke, don’t go with the strange men!”
“What in the devil are you doing here again!” snorted Verlaan, seizing Walter by the collar to pull him back into the restaurant. “What do you want? And who are you?”
“Femke, don’t go with the strange men. I will take you home, I, Walter.”