way with the childish eagerness of one out of the crowd to be in it. She wondered where Maartje and Klaas Pool were in this close-packed roomful; and Roelf. In the doorway she found that broad blackcoated backs shut off sight and ingress. She had written her name neatly on her lunch box. Now she was at a loss to find a way to reach Adam Ooms. She eyed the great-shouldered expanse just ahead of her. In desperation she decided to dig into it with a corner of her box. She dug, viciously. The back winced. Its owner turned. “Here! What!”
Selina looked up into the wrathful face of Pervus DeJong. Pervus DeJong looked down into the startled eyes of Selina Peake. Large enough eyes at any time; enormous now in her fright at what she had done.
“I’m sorry! I’m—sorry. I thought if I could—there’s no way of getting my lunch box up there—such a crowd”
A slim, appealing, lovely little figure in the wine-red cashmere, amidst all those buxom bosoms, and overheated bodies, and flushed faces. His gaze left her reluctantly, settled on the lunch box, became, if possible, more bewildered. “That? Lunch box?”
“Yes. For the raffle. I’m the school teacher. Selina Peake.”
He nodded. “I saw you in church Sunday.”
“You did! I didn’t think you. . . Did you?”
“Wait here. I'll come back. Wait here.”
He took the shoe box. She waited. He ploughed his
