Van Weller. And he did not play, you say?
Frans. Never. He had old-fashioned notions on that head.
Van Weller. Was he, perhaps, given to courting?
Frans. Oh! no—he was too stiff and solemn for that. He always looked sulky and discontented. He was a tiresome sort of fellow. I think, even, that he used to make verses.
Van Weller. And he was your master’s friend?
Frans. No, and ... yes! He was always with us, and at our rooms. He always helped the young master when he had the chance; but afterwards he used to give it him like blazes.
Van Weller. Strange, very strange! And how long ago is that?
Frans. Four years.
Van Weller. What was your master doing then?
Frans. Nothing.