The family de Wilde, too, has not died out, and will not die. I am certain of it.
Juffrouw Krummel asked her husband if she was really a “sucking animal.” Being from the bourse, and having much worldly wisdom, he replied after reflection that of such things he didn’t believe more than half he heard. “In this case the last half,” he added—but softly.
Juffrouw Zipperman had caught a cold; but was still able to boast about her son-in-law. She was a “respectable woman.” Only she couldn’t endure for Juffrouw Laps to talk so much about “virtue,” and the “respectability” of her father, who was “in the grain business.” Old Man Laps, she said, was not in, but under the grain business. He had carried sacks of grain, but that was quite different from selling grain. For the man who sells is much bigger than the man who carries. Juffrouw, therefore, had been making misleading statements.
Trudie and her sisters had decked themselves out as well as possible and were sitting at the window. When young people passed by they looked as if they had never in their lives straightened out anybody.
The Juffrouw in the rear below told the grocer that she was going to move out; for it was just scandalous, simply scandalous the way the Pieterses carried on in their back room; that she couldn’t leave anything uncovered.
Juffrouw Pieterse was busy with her household, and looked like a working woman. From time to time she had “divine service” with the children, who, if they could have had their choice, would have preferred to have been born among the Alfures, Dajaks, or some other benighted people whose religion is less strenuous.
I am glad to be able to say that Juffrouw Laps had passed a good night. I should like to tell more about her, but I don’t care to exhaust myself.
Stoffel had returned to school, and was trying to inspire the boys with contempt for riches. He was using on them a poem that had probably been written in a garret by some poor devil or other whose wealth gave him little cause for complaint. The boys were inattentive, and seemed not to grasp the peculiar pleasure in having no money to buy marbles. Stoffel attributed their hard-heartedness to Walter’s crazy ideas: They had heard of his attack on the Margrave and of that remarkable visit to the cave.
And Walter?
He still lived in expectation of the punishment he deserved so richly. For his mother had given him to understand repeatedly that the little “straightening out” of the evening before was merely for practice, and that the reward of his sin would be delayed till she could speak with the preacher about it.