Before I go any further, I must tell you that young Stern has arrived. He is a nice young fellow. He seems quick and capable, but I believe he is a dreamer. Mary is thirteen. His outfit is very neat. I have set him to work at the copying-book, so that he may get accustomed to the Dutch style. I am curious to see whether it will be long before there are orders from Ludwig Stern. Mary is going to work a pair of slippers for him . . . for young Stern, I mean. Busselinck & Waterman have got nothing for their trouble. A respectable broker does not scab, say I!
The day after the party at the Rosemeyers’, who are sugar people, I called Frits, and told him to bring me that parcel of Shawlman’s. You will please remember, reader, that in my family I strictly insist on religion and morality. Well, the evening before, just after I had peeled my first pear, I read on the face of one of the girls that there was something in that poem which was not quite as it should be. I had not listened to the thing, but I had noticed that Betsy crumbled her roll of bread, and that was enough for me. You will recognize, reader, that you are dealing with a man who knows what goes on in the world. I, therefore, got Frits to put that “fine piece” of the previous night before me, and I very soon found the line that had crumbled Betsy’s roll of bread. It mentions a child at the mother’s breast—that may pass—but: “scarce from the womb delivered,” you see that did not seem right to me—I mean, to mention such a thing—nor to my wife. Mary is thirteen. In our house we don’t speak of the cabbage or the stork, nor the gooseberry-bush; but to name the things so openly does not seem proper to me, as I am such a stickler for morality. I made Frits, who unfortunately already knew the thing “out-
24
