“Oh, yes, good-natured enough as far as that went. I can’t tell you how many widows he has given shelter to, how many little waifs she took in from the native village (they have no children of their own), how many forced sales he has put a stop to——”
“Poor fellow,” cried Max, “I wish I could do something for him.”
“It’s easy to say that, Max,” interposed Martendijk; “but,” and he pulled his thin whiskers meditatively, “it comes to be a question if it is right to sympathise with people of that kind. Is it not their own fault that they have gone down in the world? Is it not inexcusable to run through one’s money in that way?”
“Inexcusable? I don’t agree with you there. At least he has run through it in a way which speaks well for his heart, if not for his good sense.”
“I am anxious to see if people will help him in his turn,” said Emily, in a tone which irritated Van Elst beyond measure.
“Of course they will,” he said, curtly.
“Do you think so?” asked Martendijk, with some expression for once in his weak face. “People are, as a rule, more ready to look you up when they need you than when you need them. He certainly had a great many friends; but we know what that amounts to. In any case,” he continued after a pause, “it is safest to make sure that you will never be dependent on any one’s help.”
“That is true,” said Max. But as he spoke he left his seat abruptly, and went to have a look at the flowers with little Jan. Jo very soon followed him. It was very evident that he had lost his temper; and she was always ready in such an emergency to do her best to drive away the clouds as quickly as possible.
“What’s the matter, dear?”
“Oh! nothing. Rather disgusted; that’s all. How do you like the Martendijks, Jo?”