subsequently came in contact—were aware that there was “something up,”
perhaps a reorganisation of the whole department.... So much only was
certain, that no one knew what it was but the Minister and Van Arlen,
which still further increased the latter’s importance.
But the drawing up of a proposal for the appointment of a supernumerary
official was no joke. It was long since Van Arlen had such a ticklish
document in hand, and the only reason it seemed to him that he could
give was,—“Whereas it is our pleasure ... to supersede Van Arlen.” At
last, however, he found the way to do it. By noon the document was
ready, and one of the copying clerks, in whose discretion he placed
unlimited confidence, was sent for to prepare the mysterious paper for
its high destiny, in Van Arlen’s own room. At a quarter to two it was
fairly written out, and Van Arlen presented himself before the Minister,
who took the document, thanked him courteously, and glanced through it.
“You have forgotten the date when the new appointment is to begin,—the
1st of the following month,” said His Excellency, in a tone which
clearly conveyed: “Really, Mr Van Arlen, your work is too much for you.”
Van Arlen returned to his room with the paper in his hand, and found
Prigson at the door.
“Good-morning, Van Arlen.”
“Excuse me, Prigson; I haven’t a moment to spare.”
“What is it now? Country in danger? What’s that document?”
“Ministerial business.... Where is Mr Zuigman?” This to the messenger.
“Gone away, sir.”
“Tell him to come here immediately.”
But after his highly important activity in his superior’s private room,
the copying clerk Zuigman had understood that he was in need of some
slight recreation, and, alleging a commission in town, he had gone off
for a stroll round the square. His immediate superior had given him
leave at once. One doesn’t refuse modest requests like that to a man
perceptibly high in Van Arlen’s favour.
“What now?” said Van Arlen. “My head is going round. Zuigman must come
to my room the very first thing to-morrow morning.”
“Can I help you, Van Arlen? What is it has to be done?”
“Writing, man, writing!—a proposal addressed to the King that will have
to come before the Cabinet Council.... I don’t know what to do.”
“Can’t you do it yourself?”
“I!” said Van Arlen, in consternation.
“Well, a good writing is not your strong point,” laughed Prigson,
“otherwise you never would have risen so high. The man with the worst
hand gets on best, because they can’t keep him on as a copying clerk.
Just give me a pen.”
“But, Prigson, it’s a great document! strictly secret—no one is to know
anything about it!”
“I’ll promise not to tell; let’s have a look.” And before Van Arlen
could prevent it, his brother-in-law had already glanced over the paper.
“Heaven be good to us! a magnificent bargain!”
“A bargain?”
“Why, of course! Now-a-days it’s not their own sons that ministers help
forward; they do it for each other’s. Regenstein is to get this, and
your man’s son has just been put into a good thing by his father’s
colleague. Splendid exchange! Did you draw up the proposal?”
“I have no time now, Prigson. Do be kind enough to let me alone.”
Van Arlen rang the bell, and sent for one of the clerks. Van Teuten
entered.
“Mr Van Teuten!”
“Sir, I have—”
“We’ll see to that presently. Sit down, Mr Van Teuten, and
write—here—recopy this page; but mind you put in the insertion! The
first time a document of mine has been disfigured by an insertion! My
head’s going!”
Van Teuten wrote as he was told, and in a quarter of an hour the work
was finished. He perceived, with visible complacency, how much better
his writing was than that of his colleague.
“Two different kinds of writing! Never yet happened with a document of
mine; and it’s got to go to the King and the Cabinet Council!”
With these words Van Arlen rushed out of the room, leaving Prigson alone
with Van Teuten.
“Can you copy decently?” asked Prigson.
“I venture to say, sir, that there isn’t another hand like mine in this
department.”
“What do you earn at this work, now?”
“Six hundred guilders, sir. Mr Van Arlen has perhaps told you that I am
financially in circumstances of great difficulty.”
“Well, it is indeed too little for a man who writes a hand like that;
but surely you’re out of all your troubles now?”
“I?—I just wish I were!”
“Why, a man who knows all about a secret document like this need not be
poor any longer than he likes.”
“Secret, sir?”
“Most particularly so,” said Prigson, turning away, while Van Teuten
considered with himself whether it could really be the case, and
whether, if so, he could profit by it.
Van Arlen came back, thanked the copying clerk, and recommended him to
keep the matter secret.
Prigson stole a glance at Van Teuten, who was now convinced of the truth
of his words.
“Do you want anything, Mr Van Teuten?” asked Van Arlen, for the man
remained standing.
“May I venture to remind you of my request yesterday, sir? Perhaps you
know that ... that I ... yesterday....”
“Yes, I know—nothing takes place in this department without my
knowledge; but the Minister and I have agreed to take no notice of
such ill-considered action on the part of a member of this
department—provided, of course, it is never repeated.”
“No, sir, I give you my word it shall not. Oh, if you had only known
what I felt this morning, when I thought of my wife and children
searching for me! I couldn’t stand it any longer, sir, and I came back.”
“The wisest thing you could have done.”
“But that does not save me! I have obtained two days’ respite; but after
that—I am hopelessly lost, if no help comes. If you will allow me, sir,
I will go before the court to-morrow.”
“I’ll do better for you than that,—I’ll send a subscription list round
the office, and let you have the amount. His Excellency is sure to put
his name down too.”
“And if there is any deficiency, I’ll make it up,” said Prigson.
“Certainly a State secret,” thought Van Teuten, amazed and confused at
the turn matters had taken,—which he ascribed entirely to the secret. He
too was involved in it,—but, alas! he had read nothing, that was not his
habit. A good copying clerk never reads—he only writes. “To begin on
Aug. 1st,”—that was all he could remember. But it must be a secret of
the highest importance,—and the stranger who seemed to have the
principal share in the business was—yes, what could he be? Then he
remembered that Talm had spoken of an English millionaire, introduced by
him at the White Club, and somehow connected with Van Arlen;—but the
millionaire, according to Talm, knew not a word of Dutch—it was for that
very reason that Van Arlen had entrusted him to Talm’s guidance; and now
the secret document, and the unexpected help, and the change in his
fortunes—had Van Arlen, perhaps, been raised to the ministry?...
Van Arlen and Prigson were left alone.
“Did you look over my papers?”
“Yes.”
“And——?”
“I don’t want to be in it; your business is not—not honest.”
“What do you call honest, Van Arlen?”
“Perhaps I expressed myself rather harshly—it is not what it seems to
be.”
“_You_ say that?” sneered Prigson. “Come, Van Arlen, _that_ can be no
reason for you to dislike a thing. But we’ll grant that it is more
profitable for the contractor than for the State—that’s a matter of
course. Do you think we’re going to make the State presents, while the
Ministers put their sons into all the fat Government places? Just tell
me, on your conscience, Van Arlen, is that an honest business, that
appointment? I bet something you had a heap of trouble to give the thing
a decent appearance?”
Van Arlen nodded.
“Well, now, there’s a present of eighteen hundred guilders being made to
Regenstein. I suppose your Minister’s son is getting double that? And am
I to be fool enough not to get my share out of the ‘Widow Woman’ too?
Let’s be wise, and follow the good example set us.”
Van Arlen was silent.
“Shall I tell you something? The functionary now being smuggled in—for
whose coming you have been obliged to find the reasons—is really
appointed in order to oust you. He is to do your work, and you are to
become supernumerary, and then who knows how soon you’ll be pensioned
off?”
“Then I shall fall honourably.”
“Cold comfort that; it’s surely no dishonour to prevent the blow. Once
more, I’ll give you a receipt for that debt; I offer you a well-paid
position, and if the concern comes to smash—for that _might_ happen—I
will guarantee that you shall lose nothing.”
“So you admit that the thing is not honest?”
“My good Van Arlen, you’re the very type of infantile innocence. If it
were quite safe and certain to be profitable, I could do without your
help. One word more,—if you still refuse, Regenstein is a good friend of
mine; he gets his appointment on the first, and within a month from that
date I shall get what I want without applying to you. Just think over
that.”
“Prigson, you are a tempter.”
“Van Arlen, you are a fool.”
“If it should come out that I have been playing a double game?”
“If this Minister is still in office, just remind him of that
appointment; if there is another, you can lay the blame on his
predecessor, and the disorder occasioned by the unnecessary nomination
of new officials.”
“But—I took an oath——”
“And didn’t the Minister do so too? Come, shut up shop for to-day, and
come and dine with me.”
“With you?”
“Why not? Yesterday I was your guest, to-day you are mine. I am staying
at the Bellevue; but if there are too many princes there for your taste,
we’ll go and dine at the Badhuis restaurant.”
“Impossible; I can’t leave the office till four. If you’ll believe me,
Prigson, I envy the clerks, who can take their hats and go whenever they
like.”
“The burdens of greatness.... So you’re free at four, are you? Well,
I’ll drive round and fetch you.”
Accordingly, at four, Prigson arrived in a cab, and conveyed not only
Van Arlen, but his wife and Leida, to the garden restaurant at
Scheveningen known as the Badhuis. They dined sumptuously, and did not
even refuse champagne. This was an unheard-of event in their lives—but
they were not paying the bill.
After dinner, as they were sitting on the terrace, they perceived Mr
Talm. Mr Talm had on flesh-coloured kid gloves, and an eye-glass
prominently fixed in his left eye, the cord waving in the wind like the
web of a gigantic spider. Talm was quite presentable, and, being now of
opinion that the Van Arlens were presentable also, he accosted them, and
was honoured with an invitation to join their party.
Madame thought it would be nice to walk up and down the terrace, and
Leida also showed herself pleased with the idea. Talm offered his
escort, and Prigson was once more alone with his brother-in-law.
“The business is clinched now, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Van Arlen, “I have been thinking it over, and I must abide by
my first answer.”
“That’s a pity,” said Prigson—“a pity for you—for, as I said, the matter
will have to be got into shape without you; but I should have liked to
have you in it, because I’m heartily sorry for you. Just excuse me a
minute,” he went on, rising and signalling to a stranger, who was
casting sinister glances at the teacups—“it is my friend Valtoucourt,
one of the associate concessionaires.... I’m sorry, for I could have
introduced you to each other—in fact, I shall have to do it after
all,”—and Prigson, continuing in French, presented Baron de Valtoucourt
to his brother-in-law, for whom he invented a high-sounding title on the
spur of the moment. Van Arlen had never thought that his name would
sound so well in French. But French was not his forte, and now his
silence made him seem more solemn than ever; and he was convinced in his
soul that Baron Valtoucourt thought him the pivot of all the home and
foreign politics of Holland. Prigson did his best to strengthen this
hypothetical opinion. “You see, my dear fellow,” he said to the
stranger, “if Van Arlen is willing, he can do anything, but he is fond
of raising objections—_ce cher_ Van Arlen.”
The stranger muttered, with amazing rapidity, a long French sentence, of
which Van Arlen could not seize a word. He therefore confined himself to
ejaculating now and then “_oui_” or “_peut-être_,” and at the close
wrapped himself in a diplomatic silence. His wife and Leida returned
with their cavalier; the stranger greeted them with a bow, as deep and
solemn as though he were announcing her death-sentence to the Queen of
Spain; he then bowed no less deeply to Talm, who, on his part, was not
to be outdone, and, deeply impressed by the high solemnity of the
occasion, made another low bow before Van Arlen. The latter, having
witnessed the performance three times, involuntarily saluted his
assistant secretary in a similar manner.
It was, in fact, most impressively solemn.
The stranger was a man who knew life, and could understand that a man
might fill a highly important position without being an accomplished
French scholar. He therefore slackened the flow of his words, and
assured them that he should consider it a great honour to have Van Arlen
as a director.
“But,” said Van Arlen, “I never said that!”
“_Si, si_,” said the stranger, “we understand one another perfectly;”
and then he pressed his hand and gave utterance to a friendly wish,
whereat Van Arlen (unwilling to acknowledge even to himself that he did
not understand) replied, “_Nous verrons_.”
Next morning he sent for his wife and Leida to his own room, and
completely bewildered them, first by swearing them to secrecy with
regard to a conversation they had neither heard nor understood, and next
by completely losing his temper, when Leida innocently asked: “Why,
papa, you frighten me—one would think it was high treason!” He was so
violent that Leida went off into hysterics, the girls came up to see
what was the matter, and Van Arlen left for the office in a very bad
temper.
He found that Prigson had been there, and was coming back at three
o’clock.
The Minister not only refused to have anything to do with the
subscription list for Van Teuten, but hinted disapprobation of those who
had got it up; and let fall expressions which tortured Van Arlen all the
morning, making him wonder whether His Excellency had penetrated his
secret. At last Van Teuten came, and he was forced to acknowledge his
failure. The poor man, nearly in despair, was about to make a last
effort, and ask the Minister to become security for him, when Van Arlen
had a luminous idea.
“I will——” he said. Van Teuten was overwhelming him with thanks and
blessings, when he interrupted him:
“On these conditions I will become security. First, the money must be
here by two; secondly, you must borrow, not two hundred, but twelve
hundred; thirdly, the whole matter must be kept secret.”
Van Teuten was ready to promise anything,—he would willingly have made
him a present of his soul into the bargain. Not long afterwards a former
Government clerk, who was now “in business on his own account,” was
admitted to Van Arlen’s private room. The money-lender was inclined to
make objections—twelve hundred guilders was a large sum for a clerk
whose income only amounted to the half of that sum.
“If I don’t raise that difficulty,” said Van Arlen indifferently, “I see
no reason why you should.”
“Yes, you see—but you are mortal like the rest of us; you might have to
retire, or be put on half-pay—excuse my suggesting such things, but
they’re all possible.”
“You’re not lending money to me, but to Mr Van Teuten; if anything of
the sort were to happen, he would find you a new security.”
At last the matter was settled, at an interest of seven and a half per
cent. The money-lender produced the twelve hundred guilders, and carried
off the bill, duly stamped, and signed by Van Arlen and Van Teuten.
When the man with the handwriting was once more alone with his chief,
the latter said, “Two hundred guilders are all you want for the present;
I’ll keep the rest for you, in case you should get into difficulties
again. Never mind about the interest—I’ll pay that.”
Van Teuten was fairly dazzled by such liberality. There must be
something behind it—probably the State secret.
The news went like wildfire through the department how that unlucky
devil of a Van Teuten had been set on his legs again by Van Arlen!
Zuigman knew what to think of it—_he_ had seen documents; but he never
spoke, and that his colleagues knew right well.
Talm, too, had his say on the subject,—Talm, who had introduced the
millionaire, and had, yesterday evening, walked on the terrace at
Scheveningen arm in arm with his chief’s wife. Further and further
spread the fire, and every one made his conjectures. Van Teuten’s rescue
remained the great event of the day.
It struck three, when Prigson was announced. Van Arlen was deep in his
work.
“What zeal! But of course you want to leave the books in good order when
you go!”
“I’m not thinking of going, Prigson.”
“What do you say? And our agreement?”
“I have made no definite agreement; but, in so far as I have made any
promise to join you, I withdraw it.”
“What the deuce! Van Arlen, aren’t you right in your head?”
“On the contrary, I have come to my senses. When one has been an honest
man for thirty years, Prigson, one is thoroughly in love with honesty.”
“Especially the way it is appreciated! The reward of all your honesty
will be, that you fall from the tree, like an over-ripe fruit, and lie
there till somebody treads you flat.”
“Better so than trample on one’s self.”
“That is a gymnastic feat I would rather leave to a Münchausen. But
you’re mad, Van Arlen—the matter is getting into shape after all.”
“Do you think so?” Van Arlen stood up, and looked his brother-in-law
straight in the face. “Do you think I would ever allow it?”
“My good friend, you won’t be asked. Regenstein is going to negotiate
the business.”
“Then I’ll inform the Minister. The supernumerary will be on his guard.”
“Like the dying gladiator—_moriturus salutat_—it’s heroic, but comic
too. I’d be more sensible, if I were you, Van Arlen.”
“Prigson, when I came here this morning, with the feeling that I had
broken my oath and betrayed my country.... Oh! I couldn’t stay here a
day—I couldn’t live—I should lay hands on myself.”
“Treason—perjury—you do choose such fine words! and the real point is,
whether you’re going to depart from an old habit or not. Believe me,
you’re the slave of habit.”
“I prefer to remain so.”
Prigson looked at him, and saw that his mind was made up. But he had one
resource left, “Well, I suppose you’re your own master, and can do as
you like.... But I’m sorry—I shall have to remind you of what I asked
you for the other day.”
Van Arlen put his hand in his breast-pocket, and laid a small parcel on
the table before Prigson, “Will you kindly see if that’s all right?” he
said.
Prigson was disappointed. He did not need the money—in fact, Van Arlen’s
utter inability to pay would have been worth another thousand guilders
to him.
“I suppose it’s all right,” he said, glancing over the notes. “There,
Van Arlen,” he said, with a sudden change of tone, and a quaver in his
voice, “give me your hand, old fellow! you’re better than most men.
Good-bye! Stay as you are!”
He left the room, and Van Arlen, finding himself alone, felt like a man
saved from shipwreck.
It is some weeks after the first of August. The new official has long
been installed, and the Minister does nothing without consulting him.
Everything passes through Mr Regenstein’s hands.
It is Sunday afternoon. On Sunday afternoons, as a rule, it is too hot
for a walk; or, if not too hot, it is too cold. If neither too hot nor
too cold, it most likely threatens rain; and if none of these three
atmospheric conditions prevails,—well, formerly Van Arlen always had
urgent work to do. This Sunday, however, he is quite at leisure, and the
weather is perfect, but—it is the anniversary of Aunt Cornelia’s death.
Van Arlen looks over the blinds at the passers-by, most of whom are on
their way to the Bosch. Here and there a quietly dressed lady, with a
Bible in her hand, threads her way through the throng.
“I think I’ll go to afternoon church,” says Caroline. “Will you come,
Frederica?”
“Oh, yes, Caroline,” answers Frederica, with a little sigh, and they go.
Leida and Hendrika made a slight grimace.
“Papa really might go out for a walk with us.”
“Oh, fie! girls!” said their mother, “that would not be at all proper on
a day like this.”
“Couldn’t we keep the day just as well to-morrow, mamma?” asked Leida
simply. “I don’t see why we should have to keep it up for twenty years;
I’m quite sure that Uncle Van Noost Prigson himself doesn’t remember it
now.”
The name made Van Arlen look up.
“Oh, papa—have you heard anything more about the situation uncle was
talking about at dinner that day?” asked Marie.
“That’s all come to nothing, dear child; I have been talking it over,
but they say they can’t do without me at the office.”
“But, papa,” asked Hortense, “if they can’t do without you, how does it
happen that you have less to do than you had?”
“Does the importance of a position lie in the mere amount of work?”
asked Van Arlen, with dignity.
“Papa has this secret business now, you see,” said his wife, anxious to
help him out—she was looking straight before her. “This business is, by
itself, of tremendous importance.”
“Is that since Uncle Prigson was here?” asked Leida, going up to her
father, and laying her arm over his shoulder. “You’re not angry with me
any more, are you, papa?—you know—since that morning?”
Van Arlen bent down to his daughter and kissed her on the forehead. “No,
little girl,—I can’t be angry with you.”
“But you never travel now, papa. Has that part of your work been taken
away? That’s stupid!”
“The travelling has come to an end,” said Van Arlen thoughtfully,—“come
to an end for good and all.”
The item “Travelling expenses,” in the Van Arlen budget, was now
replaced by another, which was, “Instalments and interest on debt.”
“That’s a pity,” said Caroline, “because now you can never take two of
us with you, as you promised to do long ago.”
“That plan has come to nothing too, child. Besides, I’m getting old.”
“Oh, papa!—you old! that’s the first we’ve heard of it. It must be since
you gave up your glass of wine at dinner.”
“Papa has to keep his head clear, you see,” said Mrs Van Arlen. “That’s
the penalty of greatness, girls!”
She was silent, and they all followed suit. No one had anything more to
say. If only a caller would come!—but since papa had entered on his
important position as supernumerary in the office, callers had been
scarce. So the dull Sunday wore away. The two eldest girls came home
from church; the dinner hour drew near, and, still in silence, the Van
Arlens took their places round the big table, on which a soup tureen was
the only dish visible. It does not take long to eat soup, and the
dessert, as usual, remained untouched. Already Leentje had stuck her
shining Sunday face, and her hat with the flowers in it, through a crack
of the door, to give notice of her departure—for it was her day out, and
“it suited.” The family were still seated round the table. Why should
they rise?—the evening was long enough. Suddenly, however, they were
startled out of their inertia by the front door bell. Leida went to
answer it, and immediately returned with Van Noost Prigson. Van Arlen
felt himself turn pale—was he to be tempted again?
His wife, too, was seized with panic—supposing Prigson had not dined!
Fortunately, he set her mind at ease forthwith.
“I left the dinner-table before dessert, fearing that otherwise I should
not find you at home. I suppose you’re going to Scheveningen?”
“No; it’s rather too crowded for me at the Badhuis on Sundays,” said Van
Arlen, feeling that it would not quite do to allege to the widower the
anniversary of his wife’s death as their reason for remaining at home.
“Crowded! The father of seven daughters ought simply to revel in crowds.
What do you say, nieces?”
The nieces had no opinion to offer on that point.
“Really, Van Arlen,” Prigson went on, throwing himself back in his
chair, and surveying the seven girls, one by one, with a well-pleased
expression,—“really, my dear fellow, you ought not to stay at home on
Sunday evenings! At any rate you should send your daughters to church.”
The younger ones looked mischievously at Caroline and Frederica.
“It has always struck me as strange, Van Arlen, that there are so many
old maids at the Hague. What in the world is the cause of that?”
“Because the girls are rather hard to please, uncle,” said Leida.