house with a portico, and recently they had
taken off their little caps so politely."

Now, I don't believe that the Hallemans were any more respectable
than other boys of Walter's acquaintance; and, as I would like to
give some reasons for my belief, I am going to relate an incident
that had happened some time before this.

Walter never got any pocket-money. His mother considered this
unnecessary, because he got at home everything that he needed. It
mortified him to have to wait for an invitation to join in a game
of ball with his companions, and then be reminded that he had
contributed nothing towards buying the ball. In Walter's time that
useful instrument of sport cost three doits--just a trifle. Now
I suppose they are more expensive--but no, cheaper, of course, on
account of Political Economy.

On many occasions he was depressed by reason of this lack of money. We
shall see later whether what his mother said was true, or not: that he
received at home everything he needed. It is certain that at home he
never had the privilege of doing with some little thing as he pleased,
which is very nice for children. And for grown-up people, too.

The Hallemans--who were so especially respectable--gave him to
understand that they had no desire to bear all the expenses. Franz
calculated that Walter's friendship had already cost them nine
stivers, which I find high--not for the friendship, but merely
as an estimate. Gustave said it was still more; but that is a
detail. Gustave, too, had let him have four slate pencils, that he
might court "the tall Cecilia," who wouldn't have anything to do with
him because he wore a jacket stuck in his trousers--the kind small
boys wore then. She accepted the pencils, and then made Gustave a
present of them for a kiss.

The reproaches of the little Hallemans, who were so very respectable,
almost drove Walter to despair.

"I have told my mother, but she won't give me anything."

The little Hallemans, who were so respectable, said: "What's that
you're giving us? You're a parasite."

This was the first time Walter had ever heard the word, but he knew
what it meant. Nothing sharpens the wits like bitterness of heart.

"A parasite, a parasite--I'm a parasite," and he ran off screaming,
making a detour in order to avoid the street where Cecilia's father
had a second-hand store. Oh, if she had seen him running through
the street crying like a baby--that would have been worse than the
breeche