"You think so? Prettier than here."

"Oh, no!"

"Yes, it is!----"

"Look there; there's a verse."

"Yes, a verse. Can you read it?"

"Certainly! Let me see, what is it?"

"I can read it, too."

"It's about 'ill.u.s.trious blood'----"

"Yes, and 'our country,' and 'dedicated to honor and virtue.'"

"And 'his ill.u.s.trious blood'----"

"No, there it stands--'torn from the barbarians'----"

"That comes later. 'Ill.u.s.trious blood'----"

"Of Holland's hero----"

"Welcome, hero!"

"I wonder if the king looks at the candles. Do you suppose he reads such verses and copies them?"

"Oh, he has his ministers for that."

"Or generals. He has seen or read about lots of nice things."

"As nice as here?"

"Why, of course!"

"I don't believe it."

"Well, I do."

"Do you know what I think? He likes to look at the lights too."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"No, you don't believe that."

"Don't crowd so!"

"I can't help it. They're crowding me."

"The people are pushing and shoving as if they were crazy."

"Did you ever see the like? You know what I think? Kalver Street ought to be as wide again as it is."

"Yes, as wide again. The street's too narrow."

"That's why everybody's scroudging so."

There was much truth in this. Pressure was high. People were mashed and squeezed together. Those who, by reason of a lack of avoirdupois, were less firmly attached to the ground, were lifted bodily. Walter hung suspended in mid-air and looked over the heads of men much taller than he.

"Are you walking on stilts?" asked a big fat woman, whose hips had come into collision with Walter's knees. "Well, that's something."

The pressure was increasing. It seemed that the fat woman would soon have Walter on her shoulder, like a gun; while Walter was thinking that soon he would be roaming over the country like a knight. No one was looking at the candles now. People were finding their amus.e.m.e.nt in crowding and being crowded.

No, Kalver Street ought not to be widened. For, properly understood, this crowding and pushing and shoving was the nicest part of the whole business.

How tedious it would have been quietly to watch those two hundred and fifty thousand candles from some comfortable position.

Our little man lay on the heads and shoulders of his brothers. Like some aspirants to a throne, he threw himself upon the ma.s.ses. But he was beginning to feel generally uncomfortable. He wanted to hold on fast to something, or somebody--to somebody's ears, or nose. That, however, did not suit the ma.s.ses. They didn't mind being squeezed; but they didn't like to be held on to.

Crash!

Don't let the reader be alarmed. Walter had not burst under the strain; but the pressure of the crowd had broken in the double doors of a cafe! The irruption was terrible. The way the crowd streamed in might be compared to the flow of molten lava. Walter described a parabolic curve and landed on a table, without suffering any damage.

"Walter Pieterse!" cried the astonished party sitting around the table.

"Have you hurt yourself, Walter?"

No, he hadn't hurt himself; but he was rigid with surprise. Firstly, over his ascent; secondly, over his aerial journey; then over his descent among all kinds of gla.s.sware; and, finally--and that was not the least surprising thing--he was surprised to find himself all at once in the bosom of the Holsma family.

It was Sietske who asked him if he was hurt.

All the gla.s.ses, both great and small, were broken; but Walter was still in one piece. Uncle Sybrand helped him to his feet. It wasn't easy, for the press was great. However, Walter's size facilitated matters.

The proprietor couldn't reach the scene of action, but he was able to make his voice heard to the effect that everything broken must be paid for. From other tables came the noise of more breaking gla.s.s. The man was desperate. He cursed kings and ma.s.ses indiscriminately.

"One bottle of wine, three lemonades, six gla.s.ses!" cried Holsma, a.s.suming the responsibility for Walter's unintentional work of destruction.

Uncle Sybrand was holding up the money to pay for everything.

"Oh, M'neer, I'm afraid to go home after this," cried Walter. "How can I pay for that? And my mother----"

In the noise and jumble Holsma did not understand; but Sietske understood.

"Sh!" she whispered. "Papa will pay for it all. Besides, I have money; and William, too; and Hermann. Just be quiet."