LITMIR.BIZ

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to hesitate: ought he not to go to barracks first? Should he go first to Paul … or straight to Ernst? He went into the passage, strapped on his sword, put on his cap. Dorine followed him out:

      "So you're going to him? Well, when you've seen him … you won't ask me again if he's mad."

      And she made a rush for the front-door.

      "Dorine. … "

      "No, thank you," she said, excitedly. "I'm going to Constance; to Adolphine … and then … then I shall go home to bed."

      She had opened the door and, in another moment, she was gone. Gerrit saw Adeline weeping, wringing her hands in terror:

      "Oh, Gerrit!"

      "Come, come, I don't expect it's so very bad. Ernst has always been queer."

      "I shall go to Mamma, Gerrit."

      "Yes, darling, but don't make her nervous. Tell her that I'm on my way to Ernst and that I don't believe he's so bad as all that. Dorine always exaggerates and she hasn't told us what Ernst is like. … There, good-bye, darling, and don't cry. Ernst has always been queer."

      He flung his great-coat over his shoulders, for the weather was like November, cold and wet. Outside, the pelting rain beat against his face; and he saw Dorine ahead of him, wobbling down the street under her umbrella, with that angry, straddling walk of hers. She turned out of the Bankastraat on the left, into the Kerkhoflaan, on her way to Constance. He took the tram and, in spite of the rain, stood on the platform, with his military great-coat flapping round his burly figure, because he was stifling, as with a painful congestion, and felt his veins, surfeited with blood, hammering at his temples:

      "That confounded champagne last night!" he thought. "I don't feel clear in my head. … I'd better go to Paul first. … Yes, I'd better go to Paul first. … Or … or shall I go straight to Ernst? … "

      He did not know what to decide and yet he had to make up his mind while his tram was going along the Dennenweg, for Ernst lived in the Nieuwe Uitleg. But, because he did not know, he remained on the tram, on the platform, with his back bent under the pelting rain; and it was not until he reached the Houtstraat that he jumped down, his sword clanking between his legs.

      Paul lived in rooms above a hosier's shop. Gerrit found his brother still in bed:

      "Ernst is mad," he said, at once.

      "He's always been that," replied Paul, yawning.

      "Yes, but … it appears that he's absolutely mad now," said Gerrit.

      He felt so seedy and heavy-witted that he could hardly speak: his swollen tongue lolled between his teeth. However, he told Paul about Dorine's visit:

      "We must go on to Ernst, Paul, and see how much there is in it."

      Paul was listening now:

      "Ye-es," he drawled. "But I must dress myself first. You see, the curious thing about this world is that, whatever happens, we have first to dress ourselves. … "

      "I was dressed," laughed Gerrit.

      "Oh, really!" said Paul, amiably. "Well, that was lucky."

      There was a note of sarcasm in his tone which escaped Gerrit, in his dull condition.

      Paul, stretching himself, decided to get up. And for a moment he remained standing in front of Gerrit, in his pink pyjamas:

      "Do you think Ernst is really mad?" he asked.

      "Perhaps it's not so bad as that," Gerrit ventured.

      "Everybody is a little mad," said Paul.

      "Oh, I say!" said Gerrit, in an offended voice.

      "No, not you," said Paul, genially. "Not you or I. But everybody else has a tile loose. I'm going to have my bath."

      "Don't be long."

      "All right."

      Paul disappeared in his little bathroom; and Gerrit, who was suffocating, flung open the windows, so that the bedroom suddenly became filled with the patter of the summer rain. And Gerrit looked around him. He had hardly ever been here, at Paul's; and he was now struck by the exquisite tidiness of the rooms. Paul had a bedroom, a sitting-room and a dressing-room in which he had installed his tub.

      "What a tidy beggar he is!" thought Gerrit and looked around him.

      The bedroom was small and contained nothing but a brass bedstead, a walnut looking-glass wardrobe, a walnut table and two chairs. There was not a single object lying about. The pillows on the bed showed just the faintest impress of Paul's head; the bed-clothes he had thrown well back, when he got up, very neatly, as though to avoid creasing them.

      Gerrit heard the ripple of water in the dressing-room. It was as if Paul were squeezing out the sponge with exquisite precaution, so as not to splash a single drop outside his tub. The bath lasted a long time. Then all was silence.

      "Can't you hurry a bit?" cried Gerrit, impatiently.

      "All right," Paul called back, in placid tones.

      "What are you up to? I don't hear you moving."

      "I'm doing my feet."

      "My dear fellow, can't you get on a bit faster? Or shall I go on?"

      "No, no, I wouldn't miss going with you. But I must get dressed first, mustn't I?"

      "But can't you make haste about it?"

      "Very well, I'll hurry."

      There came a few sharp, ticking sounds as of scissors and nail-files that were being put down on the ringing marble. Gerrit breathed again. But, when everything became silent once more, Gerrit, after an interval, cried:

      "Paul!"

      "Yes?"

      "Will you soon be ready now?"

      "Yes, yes, but don't be impatient. I'm shaving. You wouldn't have me cut myself?"

      "No, of course not. But we must look sharp: you don't know what sort of state Ernst may be in."

      Paul did not answer; and Gerrit heard nothing more, except the swish of the rain. He heaved a deep sigh, moved about restlessly, stretching out his long legs. After some minutes, which seemed hours to Gerrit, Paul opened the door, but closed it again at once:

      "Gerrit, will you please shut the window!" he cried, angrily.

      Gerrit fastened the window; the rain no longer pattered into the room. Paul now came in: he was in a sleeveless flannel vest and knitted-silk drawers; a pair of striped socks clung tightly to his ankles; his feet were in slippers.

      "Good Lord, my dear chap, have you only got as far as that?" asked Gerrit, irritably.

      Paul looked at him, a little superciliously:

      "No doubt you fling yourself into your uniform in three minutes; but I can't do that. Since one has to dress one's self and can't just shake one's feathers like a bird, I at least want to dress myself with care … for otherwise I feel disgusting."

      "But do remember … if Ernst. … "

      "Ernst won't go any madder than he is because I dress myself properly and keep you waiting a quarter of an hour longer. I can't dress any quicker."

      "Because you don't choose to!"

      "Because 'I don't choose to?" retorted Paul, pale with indignation. "Because I don't choose to? Because I can't. I can't do it. Do you want me to go as I am? In my drawers? Very well; then send for a cab. I'll go like this, just as I am. But, if you want me to dress myself, you must have a little patience."

      "Oh, all right!" Gerrit sighed, wearily. "Oof! Get on with your dressing."

      Paul opened a door of his wardrobe. Gerrit saw his shirts lying very neatly arranged, coloured shirts and white shirts. Paul stood

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