read to: "Die, betrayer!" Then it was dark, and he knew that it was time to go home. He was supposed to be taking a walk with the Halleman boys—who were "such respectable children." With regret he closed the precious volume and hurried away as fast as he could, for he was afraid he was going to get a whipping for staying away so long.
"You will never get permission again"—thus he was always threatened on such occasions. But he understood, of course, that they didn't mean it. He knew too well that people like to get rid of the children for a while when they are a little short of space at home. And then the little Hallemans were "such extraordinarily respectable children; they lived next to a house with a portico, and recently they had taken off their little caps so politely."
Now, I don't believe that the Hallemans were any more respectable than other boys of Walter's acquaintance; and, as I would like to give some reasons for my belief, I am going to relate an incident that had happened some time before this.
Walter never got any pocket-money. His mother considered this unnecessary, because he got at home everything that he needed. It mortified him to have to wait for an invitation to join in a game of ball with his companions, and then be reminded that he had contributed nothing towards buying the ball. In Walter's time that useful instrument of sport cost three doits—just a trifle. Now I suppose they are more expensive—but no, cheaper, of course, on account of Political Economy.
On many occasions he was depressed by reason of this lack of money. We shall see later whether what his mother said was true, or not: that he received at home everything he needed. It is certain that at home he never had the privilege of doing with some little thing as he pleased, which is very nice for children. And for grown-up people, too.
The Hallemans—who were so especially respectable—gave him to understand that they had no desire to bear all the expenses. Franz calculated that Walter's friendship had already cost them nine stivers, which I find high—not for the friendship, but merely as an estimate. Gustave said it was still more; but that is a detail. Gustave, too, had let him have four slate pencils, that he might court "the tall Cecilia," who wouldn't have anything to do with him because he wore a jacket stuck in his trousers—the kind small boys wore then. She accepted the pencils, and then made Gustave a present of them for a kiss.
The reproaches of the little Hallemans, who were so very respectable, almost drove Walter to despair.
"I have told my mother, but she won't give me anything."
The little Hallemans, who were so respectable, said: "What's that you're giving us? You're a parasite."
This was the first time Walter had ever heard the word, but he knew what it meant. Nothing sharpens the wits like bitterness of heart.
"A parasite, a parasite—I'm a parasite," and he ran off screaming, making a detour in order to avoid the street where Cecilia's father had a second-hand store. Oh, if she had seen him running through the street crying like a baby—that would have been worse than the breeches pulled up over his jacket!
A parasite, a parasite!
He met lots of grown-up people who perhaps were parasites, but they were not bawling on this account.
Parasite!
He saw a policeman, and caught his breath when he got by him, surprised that the man hadn't arrested him.
Parasite!
Then came a street-sweeper with his cart, who seemed to rattle that hateful word after him.
Our little sufferer remembered that the Halleman boys had once told him what a fortune could be made by peddling peppermint drops. For twenty-four stivers one could buy a big sack full. By selling so and so many for a doit, the profit would be enormous. If one only had the capital to begin! The Hallemans had calculated everything very exactly; for they were not only very respectable, but also very cunning. Cunningness and respectability usually go hand in hand. They had said, all that was needed was the capital. They would attend to laying in the stock, and would assume all responsibility for the sale of the same. If Walter would chip in just a florin, they could raise the rest and all would go well.
Parasite. … Parasite. …
Walter slipped a florin from his mother's box of savings and brought it to the Halleman boys, who were so remarkably respectable.
"Where did you get it?" asked Gustave, but careful not to give Walter time to answer, or to fall into an embarrassing silence.
"Where did you get it?"—without any interrogation point—"fine! Franz and I will each add one like it. That'll make twenty-four, and then we'll buy the peppermints. There's a factory on the Rosengracht—such a sack for four shillings. Franz and I will do everything. We'll have more opportunity at school, you understand. Christian Kloskamp has already ordered twelve; he'll pay after the holidays. We'll take all the trouble; you needn't do anything, Walter—and then an equal divide. You can depend upon it."
Walter went home and dreamed of unheard-of wealth. He would put a dollar in his mother's savings-bank, and buy for Cecilia a lead pencil from the man who had picked holes in the wood-work of his wagon with them. So strong were they! That would be something entirely different from those slate pencils; and if the tall Cecilia still wouldn't have him, then—but Walter did not care to think further. There are abysses along the path of fancy that we do not dare to sound. We see them instinctively, close the eyes and—I only know that on that evening Walter fell asleep feeling good, expecting soon to have a good conscience over his little theft and hoping that Cecilia would give him a happy heart.
Alas, alas! Little Walter had made his calculations without taking into consideration the slyness and respectability of the Hallemans. They lay in wait for him the next day as he came from school. Walter, who had painted to himself how they would be panting under the weight of the great sack; Walter, who was so anxious to know if Christian Kloskamp had taken what he had ordered; Walter, who was burning with curiosity as to the success of the venture—oh, he was bitterly disappointed. Gustave Halleman not only carried no sack of peppermints. What's more, he had a very grave face. And little Franz looked like virtue itself.
"Well, how is everything?" Walter asked, but without saying a word. He was too curious not to ask, and too fearful to express the question otherwise than by opening his mouth and poking out his face.
"Don't you know, Walter, we've been thinking about the matter; and there's a lot to be said against the plan."
Poor Walter! In that moment both his heart and his conscience suffered shipwreck. Away with your dreams of ethical vindication, away with the gaping money-boxes of mothers—away, lead pencil that was to bore a hole in the hard heart of the tall Cecilia—gone, gone, gone, everything lost.
"You see, Walter, the mint-drops might melt."
"Y-e-s," sobbed Walter.
"And Christian Kloskamp, who ordered twelve—don't you know——"
"Y-e-s."
I wonder if Christian was likely to melt too.
"He is leaving school, and will certainly not return after the holidays."
"H-e-e i-i-s?"
"Yes, and for that reason, and also because there are not anything like so many to the pound as we had thought. Mint-drops are heavy. We've calculated everything, Franz and I."
"Yes,"
