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drooping, with the blinds down, as though it was
sleeping from exhaustion. Above it a clear light
gleamed in the sky. He closed his eyes before he
turned round and went on his way.
It was not until he reached Amsterdam and was
leaving the station that he considered what he had
to do. He had made up his mind once to go away
on a ship, but where to find one he did not know.
On his left he saw masts sticking up in the grey
light, and when he got there he saw the ships lying
out from the quay. He went on walking until he
came to a steamer with a black funnel, and on a
board he saw written that it was bound for the
West Indies. He walked up and down for a while,
hesitating, and at last he asked a porter what the
journey would cost. The man named a sum which
frightened him. Walking slowly into the town
he remembered the Exhibition ; he would go there •
again for the last time.
In Old Holland he went into a creamery to shelter
from the rain ; the waitresses were busy clearing
away and packing up. He sat there alone over a
cup of chocolate, looking through the glass of the
entrance door which was closed against the bleak
wind. Already he was beginning to feel regrets.
He must go away, he couldn't go back now, but
the thought filled him with melancholy. In his
mind's eye, he saw his Uncle Gerbrand, with his
broad shoulders, his steadfast eyes, his slow move-