hoppers. When they’re coarse, they’re very coarse 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 passed:
“Bejour!”
But Addie did not nod back.
