Piet, both furious, were thrashing the very life out of Jaap.
He rode away, mastering his nerves. No, he could never again, to please Mamma, spoil his Sunday holiday with those cads of boys. This was the last time, for good and all! Besides, he felt that they liked him as little as he them. And then, suddenly, his thoughts went back to the strange word, the word of abuse, and to the boy who, once before, had shouted it after him in the street. That time, he had not imagined that it was he whom the boy meant.
Try as he would to keep calm, he was too much excited to go straight home and perhaps meet Papa and Mamma. He therefore rode to the Bezuidenhout, hoping to find Frans van Naghel in: Henri was not at the Hague, was working hard at Leiden.
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 ass!”
“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.”
