Chương Chương 38 · Glimpses

. Glimpses

Annie Bouman had a healthy distaste for Janzoon Kolp. Janzoon Kolp, in

his own rough way, adored Annie. Annie declared that she could not “to

save her life” say one civil word to that odious boy. Janzoon believed

her to be the sweetest, sauciest creature in the world. Annie laughed

among her playmates at the comical flapping of Janzoon’s tattered and

dingy jacket; he sighed in solitude over the floating grace of her

jaunty blue petticoat. She thanked her stars that her brothers were not

like the Kolps, and he growled at his sister because she was not like

the Boumans. His presence made her harsh and unfeeling, and the very

sight of her made him gentle as a lamb. Of course they were thrown

together very often. It is thus that in some mysterious way we are

convinced of error and cured of prejudice. In this case, however, the

scheme failed. Annie detested Janzoon more and more at each encounter;

and Janzoon liked her better and better every day.

He killed a stork, the wicked old wretch! she would say to herself.

She knows I am strong and fearless, thought Janzoon.

How red and freckled and ugly he is! was Annie’s secret comment when she

looked at him.

How she stares and stares! thought Janzoon. Well, I am a fine,

weather-beaten fellow, anyway.

“Janzoon Kolp, you impudent boy, go right away from me!” Annie often

said. “I don’t want any of your company.”

Ha! Ha! laughed Janzoon to himself. Girls never say what they mean. I’ll

skate with her every chance I can get.

And so it came to pass that the pretty maid would not look up that

morning when, skating homeward from Amsterdam, she became convinced that

a great burly boy was coming down the canal toward her.

Humph! if I look at him, thought Annie, I’ll--

“Good morrow, Annie Bouman,” said a pleasant voice.

How a smile brightens a girl’s face!

“Good morrow, Master Hans, I am right glad to meet you.”

How a smile brightens a boy’s face!

“Good morrow, again, Annie. There has been a great change at our house

since you left.”

“How so?” she exclaimed, opening her eyes very wide.

Hans, who had been in a great hurry and rather moody, grew talkative and

quite at leisure in Annie’s sunshine.

Turning about, and skating slowly with her toward Broek, he told the

good news of his father. Annie was so true a friend that he told

her even of their present distress, of how money was needed and how

everything depended upon his obtaining work, and he could find nothing

to do in the neighborhood.

All this was not said as a complaint but just because she was looking at

him and really wished to know. He could not speak of last night’s bitter

disappointment, for that secret was not wholly his own.

“Good-bye, Annie!” he said at last. “The morning is going fast, and I

must haste to Amsterdam and sell these skates. Mother must have money at

once. Before nightfall I shall certainly find a job somewhere.”

“Sell your new skates, Hans?” cried Annie. “You, the best skater around

Broek! Why, the race is coming off in five days!”

“I know it,” he answered resolutely. “Good-bye! I shall skate home again

on the old wooden ones.”

Such a bright glance! So different from Janzoon’s ugly grin--and Hans

was off like an arrow.

“Hans, come back!” she called.

Her voice changed the arrow into a top. Spinning around, he darted, in

one long, leaning sweep, toward her.

“Then you really are going to sell your new skates if you can find a

customer?”

“Well, Hans, if you ARE going to sell your skates,” said Annie, quite

confused, “I mean if you--well, I know somebody who would like to buy

them, that’s all.”

“Not Janzoon Kolp?” asked Hans, flushing.

“Oh, no,” she said, pouting, “he is not one of my friends.”

“But you KNOW him,” persisted Hans.

Annie laughed, “Yes, I know him, and it’s all the worse for him that I

do. Now, please, Hans, don’t ever talk any more to me about Janzoon. I

hate him!”

“Hate him! YOU hate anybody, Annie?”

She shook her head saucily. “Yes, and I’ll hate you, too, if you persist

in calling him one of my friends. You boys may like him because he

caught the greased goose at the kermis last summer and climbed the pole

with his great, ugly body tied up in a sack, but I don’t care for such

things. I’ve disliked him ever since I saw him try to push his little

sister out of the merry-go-round at Amsterdam, and it’s no secret up

OUR way who killed the stork on your mother’s roof. But we mustn’t talk

about such a bad, wicked fellow. Really, Hans, I know somebody who

would be glad to buy your skates. You won’t get half a price for them

in Amsterdam. Please give them to me. I’ll take you the money this very

afternoon.”

If Annie was charming even when she said HATE, there was no withstanding

her when she said PLEASE; at least Hans found it to be so.

“Annie,” he said, taking off the skates and rubbing them carefully

with a snarl of twine before handing them to her, “I am sorry to be so

particular, but if your friend should not want them, will you bring them

back to me today? I must buy peat and meal for the mother early tomorrow

morning.”

“My friend WILL want them,” Annie laughed, nodding gaily, and skated off

at the top of her speed.

As Hans drew forth the wooden “runners” from his capricious pockets and

fastened them on as best he could, he did not hear Annie murmur, “I wish

I had not been so rude. Poor, brave Hans. What a noble boy he is!” And

as Annie skated homeward, filled with pleasant thoughts, she did not

hear Hans say, “I grumbled like a bear. But bless her! Some girls are

like angels!”

Perhaps it was all for the best. One cannot be expected to know

everything that is going on around the world.

Looking For Work

Luxuries unfit us for returning to hardships easily endured before. The

wooden runners squeaked more than ever. It was as much as Hans could do

to get on with the clumsy old things; still, he did not regret that he

had parted with his beautiful skates, but resolutely pushed back the

boyish trouble that he had not been able to keep them just a little

longer, at least until after the race.

Mother surely will not be angry with me, he thought, for selling them

without her leave. She has had care enough already. It will be full time

to speak of it when I take home the money.

Hans went up and down the streets of Amsterdam that day, looking for

work. He succeeded in earning a few stivers by assisting a man who was

driving a train of loaded mules into the city, but he could not

secure steady employment anywhere. He would have been glad to obtain a

situation as porter or errand boy, but though he passed on his way many

a loitering shuffling urchin, laden with bundles, there was no place

for him. Some shopkeepers had just supplied themselves; others needed

a trimmer, more lightly built fellow (they meant better dressed but did

not choose to say so); others told him to call again in a month or two,

when the canals would probably be broken up; and many shook their heads

at him without saying a word.

At the factories he met with no better luck. It seemed to him that

in those great buildings, turning out respectively such tremendous

quantities of woolen, cotton, and linen stuffs, such world-renowned dyes

and paints, such precious diamonds cut from the rough, such supplies of

meal, of bricks, of glass and china--that in at least one of these, a

strong-armed boy, able and eager to work, could find something to do.

But no--nearly the same answer met him everywhere. No need of more hands

just now. If he had called before Saint Nicholas’s Day they might have

given him a job as they were hurried then; but at present they had more

boys than they needed. Hans wished they could see, just for a moment,

his mother and Gretel. He did not know how the anxiety of both looked

out from his eyes, and how, more than once, the gruffest denials were

uttered with an uncomfortable consciousness that the lad ought not be

turned away. Certain fathers, when they went home that night, spoke more

kindly than usual to their youngsters, from memory of a frank, young

face saddened at their words, and before morning one man actually

resolved that he would instruct his head man Blankert to set the boy

from Broek at something if he should come in again.

But Hans knew nothing of all this. Toward sundown he started on his

return to Broek, uncertain whether the strange, choking sensation in his

throat arose from discouragement or resolution. There was certainly one

more chance. Mynheer van Holp might have returned by this time. Master

Peter, it was reported, had gone to Haarlem the night before to attend

to something connected with the great skating race. Still, Hans would go

and try.

Fortunately Peter had returned early that morning. He was at home when

Hans reached there and was just about starting for the Brinker cottage.

“Ah, Hans!” he cried as the weary boy approached the door. “You are the

very one I wished to see. You are the very one I wished to see. Come in

and warm yourself.”

After tugging at his well-worn hat, which always WOULD stick to his head

when he was embarrassed, Hans knelt down, not by way of making a new

style of oriental salute, nor to worship the goddess of cleanliness who

presided there, but because his heavy shoes would have filled the soul

of a Broek housewife with horror. When their owner stepped softly into

the house, they were left outside to act as sentinels until his return.

Hans left the Van Holp mansion with a lightened heart. Peter had brought

word from Haarlem that young Brinker was to commence working upon the

summer-house doors immediately. There was a comfortable workshop on the

place and it was to be at his service until the carving was done.

Peter did not tell him that he had skated all the way to Haarlem for the

purpose of arranging this plan with Mynheer van Holp. It was enough for

him to see the glad, eager look rise on young Brinker’s face.

“I THINK I can do it,” said Hans, “though I have never learned the

trade.”

“I am SURE you can,” responded Peter heartily. “You will find every tool

you require in the workshop. It is nearly hidden yonder by that wall of

twigs. In summer, when the hedge is green, one cannot see the shop from

here at all. How is your father today?”

“Better, mynheer. He improves every hour.”

“It is the most astonishing thing I ever heard of. That gruff old doctor

is a great fellow after all.”

“Ah, mynheer,” said Hans warmly, “he is more than great. He is good. But

for the meester’s kind heart and great skill my poor father would yet be

in the dark. I think, mynheer,” he added with kindling eyes, “surgery is

the very noblest science in the world!”

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Very noble it may be, but not quite to my

taste. This Dr. Boekman certainly has skill. As for his heart--defend me

from such hearts as his!”

“Why do you say so, mynheer?” asked Hans.

Just then a lady slowly entered from an adjoining apartment. It was

Mevrouw van Holp arrayed in the grandest of caps and the longest of

satin aprons ruffled with lace. She nodded placidly as Hans stepped back

from the fire, bowing as well as he knew how.

Peter at once drew a high-backed oaken chair toward the fire, and the

lady seated herself. There was a block of cork on each side of the

chimney place. One of these he placed under his mother’s feet.

Hans turned to go.

“Wait a moment, if you please, young man,” said the lady. “I

accidentally overheard you and my son speaking, I think, of my friend

Dr. Boekman. You are right, young man. Dr. Boekman has a very kind

heart. You perceive, Peter, that we may be quite mistaken in judging

a person solely by his manners, though a courteous deportment is by no

means to be despised.”

“I intended no disrespect, mother,” said Peter, “but surely one has

no right to go growling and snarling through the world as they say he

does.”

“They say. Ah, Peter, ‘they’ means everybody or nobody. Surgeon Boekman

has had a great sorrow. Many years ago he lost his only child under

very painful circumstances. A fine lad, except that he was a thought too

hasty and high-spirited. Before then Gerard Boekman was one of the most

agreeable gentlemen I ever knew.”

So saying, Mevrouw van Holp, looking kindly upon the two boys, rose, and

left the room with the same dignity with which she had entered.

Peter, only half convinced, muttered something about “the sin of

allowing sorrow to turn all one’s honey into gall” as he conducted his

visitor to the narrow side door. Before they parted, he advised Hans

to keep himself in good skating order, “for,” he added, “now that your

father is all right, you will be in fine spirits for the race. That

will be the prettiest skating show ever seen in this part of the world.

Everybody is talking of it; you are to try for the prize, remember.”

“I shall not be in the race, mynheer,” said Hans, looking down.

“Not in the race! Why not, indeed!” And immediately Peter’s thoughts

swept on a full tide of suspicion toward Carl Schummel.

“Because I cannot, mynheer,” answered Hans as he bent to slip his feet

into his big shoes.

Something in the boy’s manner warned Peter that it would be no

kindness to press the matter further. He bade Hans good-bye, and stood

thoughtfully watching him as he walked away.

In a minute Peter called out, “Hans Brinker!”

“Yes, mynheer.”

“I’ll take back all I said about Dr. Boekman.”

“Yes, mynheer.”

Both were laughing. But Peter’s smile changed to a look of puzzled

surprise when he saw Hans kneel down by the canal and put on the wooden

skates.

“Very queer,” muttered Peter, shaking his head as he turned to go into

the house. “Why in the world doesn’t the boy wear his new ones?”