Small Souls Part 44

He found Frans at home, in the two elder boys' sitting-room, smoking with a couple of friends.

"Well, old man, what is it?"

And he took Addie outside.

"I've been fighting with that cad of a Jaap. He called me an Italian, Frans. What did he mean?"

Frans started; and Addie noticed it, became suspicious.

"Oh, nothing, old man: it's just that he's an a.s.s!"

"No, Frans, there must be some reason why he called me that; and I mean to know the reason."

"Don't worry about it, old chap."

"And the other fellows licked Jaap because he said it. And then Jaap also said ..."

"Well, what else did Jaap say, old man?"

"That I ... that I was not the son of my father."

Suddenly, while he was unbosoming himself in the warmth of Frans'

sympathy, a light flashed across him. He remembered the mysterious fits of sadness of Mamma's, scenes with Papa, during those early days at the Hague, when he had vaguely noticed in his mother something as though she were asking for forgiveness, humbling herself before Grandmamma, before the uncles and aunts. And all this, taken in connection with Papa and Mamma's former residence in Italy, in Rome, caused to flicker before him as it were a reflection of cruel truths. As he looked at Frans, these cruel truths flickered up before him again. He had read much for his years; his school, his school-friends had soon revealed some of the mysteries of life to him, though he was still a boy, though he was still a child, with a child's innocence in his soul and his eyes, with the soft bloom of that innocence on his child's skin and his child's mind, even though there was something of a little man about him. And, suddenly, he saw everything: the rage of the boys because Jaap had given himself away, their confusion and now Frans' confusion....

"Not the son of your father?" repeated Frans. "They're a.s.ses, those three louts.... Come, Addie, don't have anything more to do with those clod-hoppers. When they're coa.r.s.e, they're very coa.r.s.e and they don't know what they're saying."

"Yes," said Addie, with sudden reserve, "that's what it must be, that's what it is."

"Come, Addie, come for a walk, will you, with the two Hijdrechts? We were going to the Witte; but, if you'll come with us, old man, we'll go to Scheveningen instead."

The boy's senses suddenly became very acute and he heard a sort of pity in Frans' voice. He began to feel very unhappy, because of that pity, restrained himself spasmodically from sobbing, gulped it all down: all about Italy and that he was not the child of his father. And he hesitated whether he had better hide somewhere, all alone, or stay for sympathy, with Frans....

"Come along, old man, come with us," said Frans. "Then we'll go to Scheveningen."

And he went at once and told the other two students, the Hijdrechts, of the change of plan.

"Then I'll leave my bicycle here," said Addie.

He went with the three young men, who, for his sake, did not go to the Witte; and they walked to Scheveningen. And it was as though he heard that note of pity in the Hijdrechts' voices too. Then, suddenly, on the New Road, he saw the three Saetzemas cycling back to the Hague.

"There are our three nice gentlemen," said Frans.

The three boys nodded as they pa.s.sed:

_"Bejour!"_

But Addie did not nod back.

Scheveningen was overcrowded, with its Sunday visitors; but the Hijdrechts were quite amusing and Frans was always pleasant.

It was late, close upon six, when he decided to go home.

"Well, good-bye, old man," said Frans.

Addie pressed Frans' hand, wanted to thank him for the walk, but was too proud, because of that pity, and could not:

"I'll come and fetch my bicycle to-morrow," was all he said, dully.

And he went home slowly, alone. He felt as though he could not go home; as though he would have liked to walk somewhere else, anything to escape going home. He felt as though, suddenly, he had to drag with him a heavy sorrow, too heavy for his years, and as though it lay on his chest, on his throat, on his lungs. But he reached home at last, about half-past six.

"How late you are, Addie," said Constance, a little annoyed. "We've been waiting for you for the last half hour. Have you been with the three boys?"

"Yes," said Addie.

"Oh, then, it's all right," she said. They sat down to dinner, but Addie was quiet, did not eat.

"What is it, my boy?" asked Van der Welcke.

"Nothing," said Addie.

But his parents were not used to seeing their child like that and insisted on knowing what was the matter.

"I've been fighting with Jaap," said Addie. Constance, already a little annoyed, flared up at once:

"Fighting? Fighting? What about, Addie? There's always something with the three boys."

"Oh, nothing!" said Addie, evasively.

"Come," said Van der Welcke, "all boys have a fight now and again."

But Addie did not speak, remained stiff and silent. He did not answer, would not say why he had fought with Jaap. And he was reasonable, tried to eat something, so as not to upset his mother; but the food stuck in his throat. They hurried through dinner. When Addie was gloomy, everything was gloomy, there was nothing left, life was not worth the dismal living, Constance' new and gentle happiness was gone, gone....

"Shall we go and bicycle a bit, my boy?" asked Van der Welcke. "Or are you tired?"

"Yes, I'm tired."

"Remember, Addie," said Constance, coldly, "that we are going to Grandmamma's and that you have to change."

"Yes."

He got up, went upstairs, to his boy's room, not knowing what to say next, what to do with himself, where to sit, what book to take up; he remained standing, aimlessly, in the middle of the room, with that bottled-up sorrow of a whole afternoon lying heavy on his chest and lungs: that sorrow which he had dragged with Frans and the Hijdrechts to Scheveningen, quietly, without sobbing, amid that bustling crowd of Sunday visitors.

He stood there, aimlessly, dejected, when the door opened and Van der Welcke entered:

"Come, Addie, my boy, tell your father. What is it?"

"Papa," he began, yearning now, burning to know....