Part 43 (1/2)

”I don't know,” said Adolphine, sharply.

But the girls, both curious, continued to talk about the nickname and they sounded Karel and also Marianne and Marietje van Naghel.

No, none of them, either, knew what the name meant. But Karel was determined to find out and did find out:

”I know,” he said to his little sister, Marie.

”I know,” Marie whispered to the Van Saetzema girls.

But Marietje van Saetzema did not yet quite understand, but she would not let this appear, because Caroline would have thought her such a baby. If Auntie had never married an Italian, how could she have a son who was an Italian?

The nickname came to the ears of Herman Ruyvenaer, the youngest son of Uncle and Aunt, a lean little brown _sinjo_ of fifteen, who mentioned the nickname at home to his sisters Toetie, Dot and Pop.

”_Allah_, it's too bad!” said the girls. ”It's a shame of those boys, Mamma; just listen....”

”Oh, no, I don't believe it,” said Aunt Ruyvenaer, when she heard.

”Gossip, I say; _ka.s.sian_, Constance!”

But Uncle Ruyvenaer told her that it was so.

”But how do you know?”

”Adolphine told me herself.”

”Oh, nonsense, she wasn't there!... _Ka.s.sian_, that boy and his mother!”

And Aunt Lot and the girls refused to believe, were indignant; and Auntie called her husband an old gossip. But the nickname was often on the lips of the young boy- and girl-cousins and of their friends at home and at school. Once, Addie thought he heard a boy shout to him, by way of an abusive epithet:

”Italian!”

He did not understand, did not even apply the word to himself and walked on.

Another time, however, bicycling with the Van Saetzema boys, along the Wa.s.senaar Road, he grew angry because Jaap was trying his hardest to run over a cat:

”Leave the animal alone,” cried Addie, furiously, ”or I'll punch your head!”

”Oh?” roared Jaap. ”You would, would you, Italian?”

Addie did not yet understand. But he had a vague recollection of hearing the name before. He did not at once recall the incident of that other boy:

”Why do you call me an Italian?” he asked.

The others were frightened, pulled Jaap's sleeve.

”That's nothing to do with it,” growled Jaap, taken aback. ”You say you're going to punch my head.”

But Addie, in a flash, remembered the boy and that shout in the street near the school:

”Out with it!” he cried. ”Why do you call me an Italian?”