



Produced by Mark C. Orton, eagkw and the Online Distributed
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  THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF O'NEILL IN HOLLAND.




  Books by CUEY-NA-GAEL:


  An Irishman's Difficulties in Speaking Dutch.

  Deze humor deed aan het beste van Jerome denken.
                                         (_Nieuwe Courant_).

  Ingenaaid =90 cts.=        Gebonden =f 1,25=.


  Ireland, its Humour and Pathos.

  A most interesting study ... graceful ... bright and readable.
                                         (_British Weekly_).

  Treffende beschrijvingen van landschap... Geestig en
  pathetisch. (_N. Gron. Courant_).

  Vol humor en geest--weemoed en melancholie.
                                           (_Dor. Courant_).

  Ingenaaid =90 cts.=        Gebonden =f 1,25=.


  The Further Adventures of O'Neill.

  Thans kregen wij de avonturen van O'Neill te hooren bij een
  vriendelijke boerenfamilie..., zijn dwaze ontmoeting in
  Gouda.... in het Haagsche Bosch.... en zijn verwarring met
  "dank u" en "thank you".... en Kanape.... en de D-trein--het
  was alles niet om na te vertellen.

  Ingenaaid =90 cts.=        Gebonden =f 1,25=.


  Published by J. M. BREDEE, Rotterdam.




  THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF
  O'NEILL IN HOLLAND

  BY

  CUEY-NA-GAEL,
  (REV. J. IRWIN BROWN, B. D.)

  Author of "An Irishman's Difficulties in Speaking Dutch",
  "Ireland, its Humour and Pathos".

  SECOND EDITION.

  [Illustration]

  ROTTERDAM
  J. M. BREDEE.
  1914




                  For permission to give recitations or
                  readings from this book, application
                  should be made to the Publisher.




CONTENTS.

                                       Page.
            CHAPTER I.

  Where did O'Neill's Dutch come from?     1

            CHAPTER II.

  Some Characteristics of the Compendious  5
    Guide to Dutch

            CHAPTER III.

  How O'Neill learnt to pronounce         14

            CHAPTER IV.

  An Interlude and an Application         18

            CHAPTER V.

  The Wegwijzer on Dutch Syntax           23

            CHAPTER VI.

  The Grammatical Caress                  29

            CHAPTER VII.

  A Gossipy Letter                        34

            CHAPTER VIII.

  The Surprises of the Maas               44

            CHAPTER IX.

  The Thunderstorm                        55

            CHAPTER X.

  The Devoted Nurse                       68

            CHAPTER XI.

  Gossip and Diplomacy                    76

            CHAPTER XII.

  A Study in Character                    83

            CHAPTER XIII.

  Belet!                                  97

            CHAPTER XIV.

  The Day-train                          104

            CHAPTER XV.

  Supper at a Boerderij                  112

            EPILOGUE                     129




CHAPTER I.

WHERE DID O'NEILL'S DUTCH COME FROM?

A GREAT WORK.--THE CIVILIZED LADY.--BOYTON ANIMATES THE LEARNER.


We had all heard something of Jack O'Neill's adventures in Holland; and
the members of our informal little club in Trinity College Dublin were
positively thirsting for fresh details. There must be much more to
tell, we felt sure: and we had a multitude of questions to ask.

Now the odd thing about O'Neill was that he didn't like to be
interrogated; he preferred to tell his story straight through in his
own way. He had evidently studied hard at the Dutch language, but
without the least regard for system: and it was clear that he had been
by no means careful in the choice of text books. Indeed, he seemed to
be rather sensitive on this point, no doubt regretting that, in the
ardour of his early enthusiasm, he had just taken the first grammar
and exercise-book he could lay his hands upon, without consulting
anybody. It was that curious plan of doing everything by himself that
doubtless led him into the initial mistake, that of trying to get any
sense out of "Boyton and Brandnetel".

Apparently he had kept that "literary find" by him for reference, and
for digging stray idioms and rules out of, while he added more modern
volumes to his working stock. This would account for his glibness in
rattling off out-of-the-way phrases, and for that rich bizarre flavour
which his simplest Dutch utterance undoubtedly had.

But we didn't know the worst.

Intentionally vague though he was in talking about his authorities, we
ran him to earth (so to speak) at last in the matter of "Boyton and
Brandnetel"; and had a happy evening.

That book was all O'Neill told us, and more. Printed on paper that
seemed a cross between canvas and blot-sheet, it bore the date 1805.
It was very Frenchified, and the English puzzled us extremely. Here is
the Preface--or a part of it.

  =The following WORK was, originally, compiled by William Boyton.
  After passing +five Editions+, a Sixth appeared +partly enlarged,
  and partly improved+, by Jac. Brandnetel. This last Edition was
  published, at the Hague, in the Year, 1751.=

  =The several particles, of Speech, are arranged by the usual Order;
  and Declare with precision; every rule being followed, with
  practical exercise. This Mode, of teaching, being already
  +appreciated+; it will not be deemed Essential; nor do we, point
  out, the utility of it. As to Syntax; it is fully treated: whilst,
  +last not least+, cares have been exercised, to unite ease with
  simplicity, accuracy with idiom, and animate the +Learner+. It aims
  at the pupil of +High-Life+, and to acquire the Polish of the
  +civilized Lady+.=

  =THE HAGUE, 1805.=


This brilliant introduction raised our expectations to fever heat. We
had never encountered such an army of commas before; and as for the
English--!

+Anything+, evidently, might be met with inside the covers of William
Boyton's 'Work'.

The best of it, of course, was its extraordinary politeness. Every
other question was prefixed with "Verschoon my", and went on something
like this: "Zoudt gij zoo goed willen zijn mij toe te staan...". Then
there were some plain and unornamental phrases such as "Men weet
nooit hoe een koe eenen haas vangt".--This was labelled 'proverbial
expression', and was translated, happily enough, by "The unexpected
often occurs."

"Ik heb er het land aan je" was rendered mysteriously: "I have an
objection", "I cannot agree".

That was puzzling enough, and delightfully vague! But for all that
found the phrase doubly underlined by O'Neill and marked by him as
'useful for general conversation'.--




CHAPTER II.

SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE COMPENDIOUS GUIDE TO THE DUTCH LANGUAGE.

POLITE DIALOGUES.--HOW TO BUY A CASTOR.--NOT MURDERED?--GIJ
ZIJT GERESTAUREERD.--THE ENGERT.--BETAALD ZETTEN.--GEKT GIJ ER
MEDE?--DUIZENDMAAL VERSCHOONING, MEJUFFROUW!


There was something good on every page, as might be expected from the
very preface. And, withal, there was a steady process of boasting about
its own merits that was most refreshing in the barren realm of grammar.

With mock modesty it dubbed itself on the title page, "The Compendious
Guide," and followed this up with another title "_Korte Wegwijzer tot
de nederduitsche taal_." The whole compilation was evidently the work
of several generations of literary gentlemen, who aimed at the 'Polish
of the Civilized Lady' in quite different ways, but whose united
efforts certainly made 'The Work' remarkably incoherent.

We all quizzed O'Neill unmercifully about the Civilized Lady, and read
some dialogues with immense satisfaction. So uproarious, indeed, did
the fun become at last, that our neighbours on the stair came trooping
in. Three of them were Cape-students, hard-working medicals, whom we
never heard speaking Dutch, though we were well aware they must have
known it. Like the others, they insisted on a full explanation of the
tumult, and we showed them "Boyton". They didn't mind so much about the
Civilized Lady; but when they turned to the Polite Dialogues at the
end, a kind of shudder seemed to pass through them, as if they had got
an electric shock--till finally they dropped the book and screamed with
delight.

"Why! that's nothing so very odd", said O'Neill, looking hurt. "I have
often used lots of those phrases." Picking up the dishevelled leaves
from the floor, he ran his eye down a page or two and said: "Yes, of
course. These things are all right: A bit stiff and bookish, perhaps;
but correct, quite correct. You fellows needn't be so excited over
nothing."

"Read us some!" clamoured the men from the Cape. "Read us some of the
dialogues you imitated. Go on! Read!"

"Oh!" said O'Neill, "almost any one of these conversations about common
things is good enough. Here, for instance." And he took the book in his
hand and walked about the room, giving us first the English--then the
Dutch.


  ="TOUCHING BUYING AND SELLING.=  =WEGENS KOOPEN EN VERKOOPEN.=

  Have you any fine hats?          Hebt gij mooije hoeden?

  This is one of the finest in     Daar is een van de fraaiste in 't
    the Country.                     land.

  Yes, Sir; this is a dreadfully   Ja, hoedemaker; deze tenminste is
    nice one.                        ijsselijk mooi.

  Just come close to the fire,     Eilieve! kruip bij het vuur,
    Sir; and examine that hat        mijnheer; en bezie dien hoed
    narrowly.                        eens wel."


"That conversation," said the Professor, "must have been of immense
help to you now in modern Holland?"

"Hm"--replied Jack doubtfully.

"O'Neill," said I; "Stop! You're making that out of your head. That
stuff's never in any book."

"Well," was the hasty reply; "I see this isn't so good as some
parts--not so practical, perhaps; but that's all here. Wait a bit....
Now listen. Here's something better. Hush!"


  ="BETWEEN TWO ENGLISH GENTLEMEN.= =TUSSCHEN TWEE ENGELSCHE HEEREN.=

  My dear Friend, I am extremely    Waarde Vriend! ik ben ten uiterste
    happy to see you.                 verheugd u te zien (bezigtigen,
                                      of a house).

  It has been reported for a        Men heeft voor de waarheid verteld
    certainty that you were taken     (als eene zekerheid verhaald) dat
    by the Turks and murdered         gij van de Turken genomen waart
    halfway between Leghorn and       en gemoord halfwege tusschen
    Civita Vecchia.                   Livorno en Civita Vecchia.

  But these atrocities did not      Maar deze gruwelen zijn mij niet
    befall me!                        gebeurd!

  You are convinced it is not       Gij zijt overtuigd dat zulks
    true?                             onwaar is?

  I am.                             Gewisselijk.

  I rejoice that you are restored.  Ik verheug mij dat gij heelemaal
                                      hersteld zijt geweest (of a
                                      building: geheel en al
                                      gerestaureerd geworden)."

There was a noise in the room at this, but O'Neill went on boldly to
finish the Dialogue.

  "Are you speaking in jest?         Gekt gij ermede?

  I do not jest.                     Ik gek er niet mede."


"That's enough--quite enough--for the present", said the Cape men.
"We'll borrow the +Wegwijzer+ from you, and bring it back safe.

"No, there's no fear we'll mislay it, or harm it. Much too valuable for
that. But--you'll excuse us; we can hardly believe you've got that
actually in print. And we're curious to know what kind of rules those
learned grammarians give. You'll lend us this mine of wisdom for a few
days, won't you? Thank you, so much.

"And by the way, here are some of your own notes. What's this about
_engert_?"

"Oh", said O'Neill; "that's a reminder about a neat phrase I picked up
from my landlady. Did I never tell you?

"Well. When my cousin came over, you know, on his way to Germany, he
stayed with me a couple of days. He's very athletic--a fine wiry,
muscular young fellow, lithe as a willow, as you are aware. So I wasn't
astonished at overhearing the landlady and a crony of hers discussing
him. They used a rumble of unintelligible words about Terence, as he
passed the two of them on the stairs with the slightest of nods, and
mounted three steps at a time, whistling as he went. There was no
mistake about their referring to him; and amid the chaos of sounds I
caught the words _eng_ and _engert_.

Curious to know how Terence's agility, or perhaps his swarthy
complexion, had affected them, I turned up these terms of admiration
in my dictionary; and found _eng_, 'thin', 'narrow'. The longer word
wasn't there. But on the whole it seemed safe to conclude from _eng_
meaning 'narrow', that _engert_ would work out something like "fine
strapping fellow and in excellent training". If that was it, my
landlady had hit the nail on the head. For Terence had just been
carrying all before him at the last Trinity sports.

Her admiring criticism I duly entered in my notes and kept for use.

Some days after Terence had left, the landlady was praising her son's
cleverness to me; and to please her I just said that he was a wonderful
boy. 'Mirakel van een jongen' was the expression I employed; and I was
quite proud of it. But she didn't seem appreciative of my effort, so I
fell back on her own idiom. Fortunately the lad was quite slender, and
I could dwell with satisfaction on the suitability of my new word.

"Hij is zoo eng", I said. "Ja juffrouw hij is een engert!--een echte
engert!!"

She received my encomium on her boy with speechless indignation, and
rose and left the room. You can't be too careful", added O'Neill
thoughtfully.

"Jack," said one of the students. "I prefer your own notes even to
Boyton. Haven't you some more? Ah, what's this?" he enquired, turning
to some pencillings inside the back. "_Dat zou je wel willen_", he read
aloud, "'signification doubtful!'

"And here's one marked '_commercial_': 'We'll consider the transaction
as settled': Dutch apparently something like, '_Dat zal ik u betaald
zetten_'. Here's another labelled, '_not deftig, but very popular_':
'_Ben je niet goed snik?_' Translation _seems_ to be: 'you're not quite
able to follow my meaning.'

"Ah! No more? That's a pity."

"Oh I have plenty more," interposed O'Neill; "but not here. And you
want to read this Boyton volume."

"Let me finish the 'Dialogue between English gentlemen', and you may
have The Work.

The first Englishman says: "Ik bid U, mijnheer; laat mij geene
onheusheid begaan."

Then the other, the man who had been so disappointed that his friend
wasn't murdered, answers politely: "Ik weet zeer wel welke +eerbied+
ik U schuldig ben."

Up to this moment the two acquaintances seemed to have got on fairly
well together in spite of some difficulties. Why two Englishmen when
they met in Paris about the year of grace 1805 should plunge into a
complimentary dialogue in Dutch, is not very clear. But that there was
a lurking feeling of antagonism in the +gossip's+ mind towards his
compatriot, seems to be shown by the remark that he now makes to wind
up the dialogue.

"_Mejuffrouw_(!) _ik bid U duizendmaal om verschooning, indien ik heden
eenige onheusheid omtrent U bega._"

That was final. The returned traveller hasn't a word for himself, after
he is called 'mejuffrouw.'

"Mind you, gentlemen," continued O'Neill, holding Boyton aloft like a
trophy, "if I +did+ try to stop too prolonged conversations in that
gracefully irrelevant fashion, I had caught the trick of it from
Brandnetel himself. You have only to go on heaping civilities on your
wearisome talker's head, but take care to call him, just once,
Mejuffrouw, and he'll have to go. It's a neat way of saying Good-bye.
I never found the method to fail.

Some day I'll tell you how supremely effective I found that unexpected
little turn.

Why it's nearly as good as _Zanik nouw niet_."




CHAPTER III.

HOW O'NEILL LEARNED TO PRONOUNCE.

THE GOAT THAT RAN ROUND THE ROOF.--A HAS A BROAD SOUND.--NATIVES.


"I never could quite understand," said Bart van Dam, the big Cape
giant, who had carried off Boyton the week before, "how O'Neill
managed, out of such an extraordinary book, to pick up anything of the
pronunciation. For, as a matter of fact, he +does+ get quite close to
some of the sounds; and I can nearly always guess what he is trying to
say.

"When he is talking about that interesting Rotterdam street, the
Boompjes, he doesn't make the first part rhyme with the English word
loom, and then add +cheese+, a thing I have heard Britishers do who
should have known better. And actually, I have noticed he can
distinguish +goed+, +groot+, +goot+. That's promising.

"Some of my British friends at the Cape, even after I graduated on
English Literature and History, used kindly to drop Dutch words into
their conversation, either to make it easy for me, or to keep up my
spirits, so to speak. Oh never a talk of over five minutes, but little
familiar terms like +taal+, +zolder+, +maar+, and so on, would begin to
be showered in, here and there. One of these linguists had taken me
into his own back garden, (he was very fond of animals of all kinds and
we had gone out to inspect those he had) when he began to explain the
new improvements on his premises.

We got into a deep discussion on the right way of draining a flat roof.
"Come here", said he, at last. "Look up there, and you'll see a +goat
of mine+ running all round the open space!"

"Goat!" I exclaimed; "it'll fall!"

"Nonsense", he said, "not unless lightning strikes it. Firm as a rock!
Now, isn't that the right sort of +goat to carry the water off+?"

He thought he had said goot in Dutch!

Well now, Jack's beyond +that+. Who had been coaching him?

Naturally I turned up Boyton on pronunciation the very first thing at
home--and the mystery was solved! I was amazed. Boyton excels in
teaching the sounds. Here is an extract or two from his


  =REMARKS ON THE DUTCH PRONUNCIATION.=

  =A=     =has a +broader sound+ than in English, bal.=

  =A A=   =has a +broader sound+, aal.=

  =A A U= =+sounds broad+, as in graauwen, to snarl.=

  =E U=   =is described as resembling eu in Europe. For the +falsity+
          thereof, let the word be pronounced by a Native, and the
          +Mistake+ will be +felt+.=

  =G=     =is a guttural letter difficult to an Englishman; it can only
          be acquired by hearing it from a +Civilized Native+, e.g.
          gierig and gijzelen.=

  =U U=   =No Englishman can emit this sound. It may be well heard in
          vuur (fire) and in guur. Consult a Dutch Instructor.=

  =E I=   =This sound is beyond the powers of the unassisted English
          Organs of Speech. It must first be heard from an educated
          Hollander.=

  =U I=   =It is +improper+ to make this identical with oy as in boy;
          the native pronunciation must be followed.=


There you have some of the Rules! They won't lead you far wrong, in any
case. Then, to crown all, for fear the diligent reader wouldn't have
caught the point yet, Boyton goes back to his favourite "Doctrine of
the Native." Here it is:


=The Editor places the learner on his guard against receiving wrong
references, and directs him to an Instructor, or Native, whose Dialect
it is, for the sound peculiar to each letter=.


Bravo, Boyton!

Three kinds of Natives he recommends the beginner to consult. He has
them arranged in a sort of ascending scale--+the Civilized, the
Intelligent and the Polite.+

The two former classes will help you with the pronunciation, or with
Het.

From the latter you get idioms.




CHAPTER IV.

AN INTERLUDE AND AN APPLICATION.

LOFTY CANOPY OF GREEN.--BENT U EEN DICHTER?--THE CLOTURE.--AN INTERLUDE
AND AN APPLICATION.


"So our friend Jack had to ask always for the sounds of the words. That
would be right good for him," said Bart, "and should have made his talk
intelligible."

"Well of course it did," said O'Neill. "They always understood the
+words+ I used. It was the applications I made that hampered them.

"I had great trouble with a chatty old gentleman in the tram one
morning going down to Scheveningen. It was just seven--I was hurrying
to get an early dip, and he seemed bent on the same errand.


Attracted by my blazer and towel he opened conversation about
sea-bathing, and then proceeded to discourse on the beauties of the
landscape. He seemed chilled by the poverty of my adjectives, though
I worked them vigorously.


"Deze weg vin je zeker wel mooi?" he said at last, looking up at the
arched green overhead. "Of houd U niet van de natuur?"

"Ja, zeker wel!" I hastened to assure him. "Ik houd er erg van--Het is
prachtig! Net een tunnel van geboomte--van loofgroen."


Then observing the pleasure my encomiums gave him, I ventured on
something a little more lofty and poetic. My landlady had occasionally
talked about a "canopy," which, so far as I had understood her, I took
to mean the vast cupola of hangings over the old-fashioned bed in my
lodging. She used to say that the canopy was new and beautiful, and
needed constant dusting.

I had always agreed to this, but never dreamt of hunting up a word that
to all intents and purposes seemed the same as in English.

"Indrukwekkend schoon," I added. "Wij zitten, als het ware, onder een
canopey (that was my landlady's pronunciation) van bladeren."

"Een kanape, mijnheer?"

"Ja," said I, "een verheven canopy, niet waar?

Wij zeilen onder een groene canopy--verbazend--magnifique!"

"Hoe bedoelt U dat?" said the old gentleman more and more puzzled, and
determined to find out my meaning.

"Wij zitten hier, niet waar?" I began slowly; then pointing to the roof
of green over our heads, I explained: "dat alles vormt een prachtige
canopy boven ons heen. Zeker wel?"

"Ik geloof het niet", said the chatty old gentleman. "De tram gelijkt
ook niet op een kanape; of meent U dat?"

"De tram niet," I exclaimed, "maar de boomen; kijk; het gebladerte, het
geboomte en de hooge dak dat ze maken--dat alles zoo schitterend groen,
dat is, mijns bedunkens, niets dan een canopy, uitgehangen zoo te
spreken, over ons heen, in uitgestrekte schoonheid."


The old gentleman surely was a little dull. He said, "Ik begrijp niet
goed wat u zegt. Waar is de canape? Of bedoelt U soms een badstoel--op
het strand?"

"Nee", I answered with a deprecating smile; "Ik sprak maar poetisch.
+Verheven+", I added with a wave of my towel towards the greenery
overhead.

"He," said he with friendly interest, "bent U een dichter? Ik had U
voor een schilder gehouden," he explained with a glance at my blazer.

"Ik--een dichter!" I returned modestly. "Neen; niet erg. Op een kleine
schaal, misschien." +On a small scale+, I meant to say; but I must have
mangled the +sch+ badly, for he didn't catch the point, and I heard him
mutter: "Een sjaal! een sjaal, EN een kanape!!"

"Ja zeker, mijnheer," I reasoned; "U ziet het zelf voor U--daar onder
de boomen--dat IS hier een canopy--"

"Pardon", he interrupted, "dat is niet waar. Dat zijn gewone houten
banken," he persisted argumentatively. "En wat bedoelt U met een sjaal?"

How pertinacious the old gentleman was! He stuck to me like a leech. I
couldn't shake him off; and we were still far off the Kurhaus.

It was clearly a case for Boyton's conversational method.


"Mejuffrouw!" I said firmly, leaning towards him, "Ik ken Uwe
edelmoedigheid genoeg. Maar"--and here I added two nice little local
idioms from the rich stores of my memory--"maar--U komt pas te kijken."

That told him he wasn't looking at the matter in true philosophic
perspective.

But this I followed up, in a more authoritative way, with the assurance
that I didn't at all agree with him. "Waarempeltjes," I whispered with
elaborate distinctness, "ik heb het land aan je!"


The chatty old gentleman got off at the next +halte+.




CHAPTER V.

THE 'COMPENDIOUS GUIDE' ON DUTCH SYNTAX.

NO DEFINITE RULES.--ALL NOUNS TO WHICH HET IS PREFIXED ARE NEUTER.--DEN
IS NOT A PURE NOMINATIVE.--IK GRAUW, IK KEF, EN IK KWEEL.--A BOYTON TO
THE RESCUE.


Boyton's monograph on pronunciation is his finest piece of work. He
never quite reaches that level elsewhere; and, if he is destined after
a hundred and fifty years to achieve a name, it had better rest on his
'Doctrine of the Native' than on his Syntax.

So van Dam assured us, when our little party met in his room the week
before Christmas.

We had all been busy; but busy or not, the Cape men found time to skim
over Boyton's entertaining paragraphs, as, indeed, we guessed, from the
frequent guffaws and readings that reached us from time to time through
the closed doors. To night we had accepted an invitation to supper,
before the holidays; and we were to hear his views on O'Neill's 'Guide,
Philosopher and Friend', Boyton,--in other words the '_Wegwijzer tot de
nederduitsche taal_'. Long since Jack had, indeed, got other and more
modern manuals of Dutch, so that he was supposed to look now with a
certain contempt on his former monitor: but the "compendious guide" had
laid the basis of his erudition, and he had still a sneaking regard for
its honest old pages.

What we wanted, indeed, was stories from Jack himself: but we had
exhausted the more dramatic of these; and to get the fine aroma of the
others--there were still many others--we thought some acquaintance with
the compendium's syntax was essential.

Van Dam had undertaken to put us up to any niceties he had been struck
with.

The first thing he told us was that Boyton had no clear ideas of any
sort, and never laid down any definite rule. This lent him a certain
diffidence in regard to most points,--a diffidence which in the case of
HET became positive fright. At the first mention of +de+, +het+, and an
+adjective+, he gives as much encouragement as he can.

It is not much.


  =An insurmountable Difficulty for the Englischman is the right use of
  the Particles, especially +het+. Sufficient rules cannot be given,
  E. g. het mooie kind: eene sterke vrouw, een zwart schip.=

  =+This is certain, that all Nouns, to which the Particles, het, dat,
  or dit, are added are of the Neuter Gender; on this account, the e
  final, in the Adjectives, when joined with such words, is,
  generally, rejected.+=

  =Even this rule admits of an exception. E. G. It is never said: +een
  snel vogel: de groote paard+. But it is correct to say, if the
  meaning admits it, +een groote man+. (also +groot+.) A native may be
  consulted with advantage.=


When Boyton is labouring under strong emotion, the effect is always to
increase the number of commas, colons, and other stops.

His agitation may also be traced in the way he harks back to any
fundamental rule that he has already discussed ad nauseam.

It is quite pathetic to note how he urges on his readers to reserve
their dezen and dien and den for the accusative.


  =It is good Dutch to say: ik zag dien braven man gisteren, _I saw
  that honest man yesterday_; +but it is very bad Dutch,--whatever
  custom may have introduced in some places; to say+--dien braven man
  heeft het gezegd.=


Take some gems at random.


  =N.B. Prepositions are that part of speech, which are so called
  because they are, commonly, put before the words, which are
  subsequent to them, as +onder+ and +ondanks+.=


  =N.B. Most Adverbs may be distinguished from adjectives by this
  rule: If a substantive is added after them, they will make
  +nonsense+; whereas, being joined to an Adjective or a Verb, they
  will make good sense.=


"What I admire most," said van Dam handing back The Work to O'Neill,
"is the elasticity of the rules. He says, for instance, that you can
render +I know+ by +ik weet+, and on the whole he is inclined to
recommend that way of it. But he never commits himself.

"+It must be also admitted that there are other authors of good standing
who employ the Subjunctive form where we might expect the Indicative
and who say+ IK WETE, +I know+."

That's one of his rules!

As a matter of fact there is no finality about anything in these pages.
O'Neill, you were in training for a poet when you took up this book. I
confess I should have liked to hear you going over your fifteen classes
of irregular verbs, on the model (say) of ik grauw, ik kef en ik kweel,
or even of ik krijsch, ik piep en ik lieg.

There is a rich profusion of tenses too in Boyton. He needn't have
apologized for being too simple when he furnishes you with four
ordinary optatives and four future optatives."

"You may jest as you like about Boyton", interrupted Jack; "but I tell
you it's a book that has points. Do you know it once helped me to save
a lady's life?"

"Save a lady's life!" said the Professor and the Philosopher in one
breath. "We'll withdraw all we've said, if you'll prove to us, now, that
the 'Compendious Guide' was ever the least good to any human being."

"Tell your adventure in your own way, O'Neill," a boyish voice chimed
in; "and shame the cynics."

We all glared at the First-year's man--who was making himself very
much at home for a lad of his tender years--but as he had nothing
more to say, we let him off with a look, and turned to the lethargic
story-teller.




CHAPTER VI.

THE GRAMMATICAL CARESS.

A HAPPY CROWD.--INNOCENCE IN DANGER.--NEMESIS.--THE OUTCOME OF A
REVOLUTION.


"You saved life with that Boyton-Grammar of yours, if I catch the drift
of your last remark?" interposed the Professor magniloquently, as if he
were addressing a public meeting.

"May I hazard the guess that Boyton on that occasion was rather a
weapon of offence than of defence?"

"Well, you're right," said O'Neill. "Offence is more in Boyton's line.
And he certainly did press heavily, that day, on a butcher's boy. You
remember those slagersjongens that saunter about, in white linen coats,
with great protruding baskets on their shoulders. They jostle and push
wherever they have a chance, and whirl round with their cargoes of
meat, so as to make you start. You know the tribe. Well, Boyton proved
an admirable corrective to the insolence of one of these imps.

It was a day there was a sort of festival in the Hague.

From early in the afternoon there was a crush everywhere. The singels
and the main roads through the Wood were filled with holiday-makers.
Soldiers were parading here and there. Everyone was in the best of good
humour; music in the distance rose and fell on the air; flags fluttered
from the windows. Look where you might, there were bright dresses,
prancing horses, snorting motors, and pedestrians of all descriptions.

I was one of the pedestrians.

I had been at my grammar in the morning; and after a long spell in the
house had stepped over to Enderby's, and coaxed that lazy fellow out
for a stroll. It was perfect weather, and the crowds were wonderfully
well-behaved. We enjoyed ourselves finely 'under the green-wood tree,'
till we were brought to a stand-still in a dense mass of humanity that
was packed along the edge of a canal, scarcely moving. A procession or
something had impeded the traffic some moments.

There was a knot of butchers' boys right in front of us. They were
roughly shoving their neighbours about, and seeing what mischief they
could do. Horse play, in fact. They didn't seem to fit into Boyton's
categories, either of 'Natives intelligent' or 'polite'.

Presently one brawny scoundrel began to throw stones at the occupants
of a carriage that was slowly passing by.

I couldn't believe my eyes!

There sat an old lady of eighty or ninety, with soft white hair--the
very picture of fragility; opposite her was a nurse in dark uniform, in
charge of three dainty little children in pink and white--mere babies
of three or four--with innocent blue eyes gazing all round them. And,
actually, that ruffianly +knecht+ was about to bombard the group with
whatever he had in his hand!

Bang went a big mass of something--presumably hard, from the rattle it
made--against the side of the carriage.

Happily he was a poor marksman, that rascally slager; for at that short
range he ought to have been able to demolish so fragile an old lady at
the first shot, or at the very least have put out one eye.

As it was, he only knocked off her bonnet.

Enraged, apparently, at his poor practice at a practically stationary
target so close at hand, he picked up another half-brick and wheeled,
to take more deliberate aim.

The delicate old lady grew pale, and spasmodically fumbled with her
parasol to shield the children.

I thought her eye caught mine; and, seeing there was no escape for her
unless I interposed--no one till now seemed to have noticed the
occurrence--I shouted, "+Stop, slager, stop+!" and whisked Boyton's
learned pages right into his face, taking care at the same moment to
administer a vigorous push to the long arm of the lever conveniently
made by his basket.

This forced him to revolve suddenly on his own axis--beefsteak and all;
and, as he spun round, I accelerated his motion with a pat or two from
the '+compendium+'. It was all the work of an instant, and executed
just in time. The grammatical caress foiled his aim completely, and he
flung his missile blindly in the wrong direction.

As I slipped unostentatiously into the crowd out of the immediate
neighbourhood of the discomfited marksman, I had the satisfaction of
seeing the dear old lady recover colour and smile. The babies crowed
with delight, and clapped their hands. They thought it was a game got
up for their special benefit!

I raised my hat and retired, a warm glow of self-approval in my breast,
and on my lips an involuntary quotation from Boyton: "De spraakkunst is
voor iedereen onmisbaar."

Meantime the brickbat fell harmlessly on the back of a policeman who,
with hands tightly clasped behind him, was studying a bed of scarlet
geraniums.

He never even turned, but only said "Ja, ja," over his shoulder!

Two days after this adventure my eye caught the following paragraph
among the advertisements in the Nieuwe Courant:


                  "Stop, Slager, stop!"

      The Baroness X. and her three grandchildren herewith beg
      heartily to thank the young Englishman for his gallant
      conduct in the Wood, on the 31st Ultimo.




CHAPTER VII.

A GOSSIPY LETTER.

O'NEILL AS A GUIDE.--MEN MANGLED HERE.--NOUN HUNGER.--KINDSCH
GEWORDEN.--A ROMMEL.--HOME-MADE BERLITZ.--SPOORWEG BEPALINGEN.--THE
GROOTE WATER-BAAS.--TWO THOUSAND NEW WORDS.


"Don't talk any more about that grammar-book," I interposed. "It's all
very well in its way, but it doesn't account for half Jack's adventures.
Now I can let you into a secret. Please don't look so apprehensive,
O'Neill! As it happens, I had a descriptive letter from Enderby just
about the time that Jack was making the most brilliant progress with
his Dutch vocabulary. It gave me a vivid picture of what was going on
in the Hague when this linguist of ours got really started to work.

Here are two of these long epistles. In the first he tells me all
about the MacNamaras--Jack's cousins, you know--who came across from
Kilkenny, for a trip to Holland. They were at the Oude Doelen when he
wrote, and our friend Jack was posing as a great Dutch scholar and
showing them the sights.

        (From Enderby to Cuey-na-Gael)
                                      Doelen Hotel,
                                                   The Hague.

My dear Cuey-na-Gael,

You would be amazed to see the confidence with which O'Neill acts as
guide to the MacNamaras.

MacNamara +pere+ is mostly buried in museums, or is on the hunt for
archaeological papers, so Kathleen and Terence are left on Jack's hands.

He has been everywhere with them, and has evidently impressed them with
his astounding Dutch. To them it seems both correct and fluent. They
have only had three days of it as yet, and haven't had time to find him
out. Kathleen is as haughty as ever; and I can see she chafes at being
obliged to submit to the direction of a mere boy, as she regards Jack.

She was furious the day before yesterday, when in passing through one
of the back streets he asked her if she had ever noticed what the Dutch
Government printed in front of the surgeries.

She glanced up and, to her horror, read: "Hier mangelt men." It was
only a momentary shock; she guessed soon enough what it meant; but it
gave her a turn all the same. Perhaps it wasn't a very finished kind
of joke, but she needn't have been quite so fierce about it.

"You're cruel," she said, "cruel and heartless! Why even your dogmatic
and intolerable chum, Mr. van Leeuwen wouldn't have been so harsh as
that."

Now it was that little speech of hers that suggested something to me.
Was there ever anything between her and van Leeuwen? They were at the
University about the same time, and it seems van Leeuwen was a great
friend of the father, who had him down to his place in the country and
showed him his manuscripts. But I believe Kathleen couldn't stand him.
They used always to be arguing about the Suffragettes, and passed for
official enemies, in a way,--at least as uncompromising leaders on
opposite sides. She was fond of saying that van Leeuwen was a standing
proof that mere learning couldn't enlarge the mind. Once in a private
debate she referred to him as a "learned barbarian and a retrograde
mediaevalist."

She was called to order for it, of course; but her apology didn't
amount to much. She said she wouldn't mind dropping the adjectives, but
she would stick to the nouns.

I believe van Leeuwen was quite content, however, and congratulated his
witty antagonist on the fact that she would mellow with time.

We always thought in those days they were sworn foes, and always would
be. But I have a dim idea there is now more friendly interest on both
sides. And, by the way, van Leeuwen has been carrying on brisk
correspondence with O'Neill, especially since he heard the MacNamaras
were expected. He has offered his services, and those of his motor, to
all and sundry, especially if they hail from Dublin: so I don't think
he can be keeping up very much of a grudge.

But I was going to tell you about Jack.

Lately I had noticed that his Dutch vocabulary was growing very rich.
He seemed to have quite a hunger for nouns, and he used to ask the
names of everything. But I have no idea of what he was up to. To day
I'll find out and write you.

Much haste. Yours as ever.
                                                Enderby.


(From Enderby to Cuey-na-Gael)

Dear Cuey,

I've just been at the Doelen Hotel--and the Macs are gone! Very sudden
I must say. I suppose Kathleen has got tired of Holland; or is she
trying to avoid van Leeuwen?

You see MacNamara +mere+ had written me a friendly little note from
Kilkenny, telling me that the Doctor--as she always calls her
husband--had got a trifle absent-minded since his deafness became
troublesome, and would I look him up occasionally during his stay in
the Hague, and give him some advice about the Rhine.

Well, when I reached Vieux Doelen, the birds were flown. Gone at six
o'clock, I was told--the three of them--to Cologne! Quick work, I
thought; so I made a bee-line for O'Neill's. He surely would know about
this sudden departure.

And in any case I wanted to get a glimpse of his new mysterious studies.

Just fancy! The landlady met me at the door with tears in her eyes.

"O Mijnheer, Mijnheer!" she exclaimed half-sobbing. "Ik vrees voor
mijnheer O'Neill. Hij studeert te veel, of ik weet het niet--maar het
is niet goed met hem. Ik geloof", and here her voice sank to a
horrified whisper, "dat hij een beetje kindsch geworden is; want hij
heeft speelgoed gekocht, en hij maak overal zoo een rommel."

"Ja, juffrouw," I strove to explain, "Mijnheer studeert natuurlijk."

But she persisted, "Oh mijnheer! studeeren is het niet. Hij ziet het
scherm voor een kachel aan, en verknoeit alles. Ik ben zoo bang, zoo
benauwd! Ik durf het huis niet uit, van Maandag af al!"

Rather flustered by all this, I promised to call the doctor if it were
necessary; then climbed up the stairs to O'Neill's door.

All was still. I knocked and entered. What a sight met my eyes! Indeed
it was enough to astonish more experienced people than the landlady.

Neatly fastened on one side of the table was a model train, engine and
all. Beside it was a toy house, with yard, garden, and stiff wooden
trees. Then there was a bit of a doll's room with a kitchen stove. And
verily to every one of these articles there was a label affixed.

There sat the student, pen in hand, with a dictionary and a gum-bottle
at his elbow. Snippets of paper littered his writing-desk and the floor
around. His unfinished lunch (labelled too) looked down reproachfully
from a pile of books built on the table.

Over the gorgeous screen that hid the hearth a conspicuous card was
hung, bearing the mystic inscription, "What ought to be here--Kachel."

No wonder the careful hospita was upset. It would have been hard to say
whether the apartment was more like a museum or an auction room.

He glanced up with a sort of blush when I came near; but raised his
hand to enjoin silence, as he found the word he was in search of, and
wrote it down.

Half expecting to see prices marked, I examined some of the labels.

Nearly every thing had its Dutch name gummed on to it, such as 'spiegel
lijst,' 'behangsel,' 'schotel of bakje,' and even on his sleeve 'mouw
van mijn jas.'

"It's all right!" he burst forth enthusiastically. "Doing Berlitz
Dutch, you see! Self-taught, too! Splendid plan. Three hundred words
a day. I'll have two thousand new nouns at my fingers' ends before the
Macs are back from the Drachenfels. Precious few things in the ordinary
way of life, I won't know then! Eh, what?"

Then it dawned upon me he was getting up vocabulary.

"Nouns, of course," he said. "All nouns. That's the secret. True basis
of any language.

"It's a discovery of my own. If you know the names of two or three
thousand material things, you can never be at a loss. But I stick in a
proverb, too, here and there, wherever it comes handy. See?"

He held up the sleeve of his dressing-gown on which the candid
announcement was made in bold round-hand: "Ik heb het achter de mouw",
and pointed to his bread-knife, which was tastefully adorned with the
words: "Het mes op de keel zetten."

Yes, I saw.

Well; then he explained, and argued, and tried to proselytize me. He
was making hay while the sun shone--which meant that he was preparing,
in the absence of Terence and Kathleen, for his famous cycling-tour;
getting on his armour, in fact.

In such spirits I had never seen him.

And, I must say, he made out a good case for his method. It seems he
had anticipated most of the queries he might be obliged to put during
his travels. He had docketed every part of a railway carriage, and even
mastered all sorts of regulations, from those of the Luxe-trein to
Buurtverkeer, and from the yearly ticket to the humble perronkaartje.
It looked very thorough, and I understood that he had treated his cycle
the same way. But I have grave doubts! I am the more confirmed in my
scepticism from what the landlady told me at the door. After reassuring
her on the score of O'Neill's health, I emphasised the fact that he was
going on a trip, and must practise Dutch by way of preparation.

That was worse than all, she thought; as Mijnheer O'Neill would
certainly come to harm. "Hij is zoo veranderd! He! Het is zoo eng."

Yesterday he had asked her about the print of a sea-fight that her
little boy had put up in the hall. She said it was de Ruyter; and began
to expatiate on that hero's achievements.

But he cut her short with: "Een beroemde man was hij zeker; misschien
de grootste _water-baas_ van zijn tijd."

I explained that he probably meant _zee-held_; but not remembering the
right term in time, had taken one like it.

But the landlady could not be pacified.

"Het doet mij huiveren te denken dat hij op reis gaat!" she said.

I was not without my apprehensions either. For he means to start out
next week with two thousand new words.

He'll probably find that such hastily acquired information is not
without its drawbacks.

But more again.
                            Vale, vale.
                                    As ever yours,
                                               Phil Enderby.

P. S. The Macs are gone to Bonn, where your uncle expects to find
wonderful manuscripts. Not much fun for Kathleen though! And Terence
will be bored to death. Why doesn't O'Neill bring him back to Holland
and show him Amsterdam and other towns?




CHAPTER VIII.

THE SURPRISES OF THE MAAS.

FAIRYLAND.--IK KRIJSCH, IK FLUIT EN IK GIL.--POLYPHEMUS AND THE
SEA-SERPENT.--CLOTHO.--GLOOM AND MYSTERY.--WHAT IS TREK?--THE SOCRATIC
DIALOGUE.--A COSY TALK.--THE CHAT.--EVIDENCES OF HUNGER.


"Well, well!" ejaculated O'Neill irritably. "What an inveterate old
gossip Enderby is, to be sure!

"Of course I got Terence back quite soon from Bonn, where he had
nothing to do; and I gave him a splendid time sight-seeing in Haarlem
and Amsterdam. I'll tell you about that, another time.

But first about my run to Rotterdam, where I went one day for a little
change I needed.

The landlady was a bit peevish and hysterical, and, of course, very
bothersome. She never quite took to the Berlitz method, as I had
improved it; and she became grandmotherly to me from the moment I made
that slip about the _zee-held_.

The whole thing was getting on her nerves, so I gave her a rest. Took a
day off, in fact; and went for a tour round the Rotterdam havens.

I had some idea of recapitulating the old ground--the first thousand
words, you know--whilst I should be steaming around the harbour. But as
soon as we pushed off from the wharf and went skimming over the sun-lit
Maas, the brilliant and animated scene wiped the new vocabulary clean
out of my mind for the time-being; and I didn't feel at all inclined to
dig it out of my notes.

The marvellous colouring of everything held me spell-bound. It was like
fairyland. Our boat was crowded, and a man on board pointed out the
sights. That was the only Dutch study I got that day; for some one
began to speak to me in English--an Amsterdammer, as it appeared, who
told me that the grachten in Amsterdam surpassed every other spectacle
the world had to show; and made me promise to go and see them as soon
as I could.

I asked him what he thought of the harbour we were in; but he wasn't so
enthusiastic.

Meantime it had grown darker, and a steady, cold, sea-fog drifted round
us. It got dismally wet, as well as gloomy; and the deck dripped with
clammy moisture. We were hardly moving, presently; and our captain kept
the steam whistle hard at work. The sight-seers were grievously
disappointed; and one fellow-victim informed me it would be a good
thing if we got near land anywhere, in time to catch the last train.

Horns kept booming around us, every few seconds; perky little tugs and
immense black hulls swept by us at arm's length, piping or bellowing,
according to their temperament and ability.

The Amsterdammer and I had gone to the prow, to try and peer a little
further into the dense curling vapour, when a siren--I think that's
what you call the thing--gave such a sudden blood-curdling yell at our
very elbow, it seemed as if we had trodden on the tail of the true and
original Sea-serpent, and that the reptile was shrieking in agony.

From that time on, we had sea-serpents every other minute--whole swarms
of them--infuriated, inquisitive or resigned--soprano, alto, tenor;--all
whining, hooting and snorting; every one trying to howl all the others
down.

Excuse my referring to it, but it was the best illustration I had yet
got of Boyton's verbs.

"Ik graauw, ik kef en ik kweel!" said one set of voices. "Ik krijsch,
ik fluit en ik gil!" answered their rivals.

But the deep boom of new-comers swept the earlier songsters out of the
field: "Ik rammel, ik ratel en ik scheur". It was a regular chorus.

"Ik gier en ik piep", squeaked the little tugs, "ik <DW2> en ik jok".

But the first musicians--the sentimental ones--wouldn't be outdone.
They were evidently turning over their grammars very rapidly, to get
a really melancholy selection, for in another moment their lugubrious
snuffle pierced the fog like a knife: "Ik wee-ee-een; ik krijt; en ik
hui-ui-ui-l-l!"

There was one long-drawn-out sob, that rose and fell and rose again
with such appalling and expressive anguish that I could have imagined
half the Netherlands had turned into a gigantic sea-serpent, and had
bitten off its own tongue. So human, too, was its tortured wail, that
I instinctively thought of Polyphemus having his eye gouged out by
Ulysses. The hero, you remember, did it with a burning pine. One has
a horrible sympathy for Polyphemus, even though he is a monster and
mythical.

Happily our Polyphemus only gave two or three of his prize yells. Then
he seemed to settle into sleep, away down the river somewhere.

The Amsterdam-man explained to me that in his city the fog-horns were
much more musical.

This thesis was warmly contested by a Rotterdammer who had overheard
it, and who spoke of the Capital with a distinct want of reverence.

The argument soon deviated into Dutch, and I lost hold of it; but
through a cloud of statistics and history I observed that local
patriotism on both sides stood at fever heat.

By and by, the fog thinned a little; and we crept along to a
landing-stage, where the Amsterdammer and I climbed on shore with
alacrity. We lost our way at first, and wandered about within earshot
of the siren-brood, whooping and calling and taunting one another on
the river; but my new-made friend stumbled at last on some spot he was
acquainted with; and hastily giving me some directions, went off to his
train.

After the long Polyphemus-concert on the murky river I wasn't in much
humour for Dutch, but I had to speak it at every corner to ask my way.

In an open thoroughfare--there were some people about, but not
many--near an archway, I came upon Clotho.

Perhaps the Greek Mythology was running in my head: but there she sat.
Old beyond words, but hale; wrapped up marvellously with head and jaws
swathed in dim flannel, she gazed, without moving, on a table in front
of her, spread with dried eels and other occult delicacies. As I
approached, to enquire for the 'kortste weg naar de electrische tram',
she didn't move a muscle. Something about her made me pause upon my
step, and refrain from speech.

No movement.

But wait! One thickly muffled hand went out to some obscure eatable,
slowly grasped it, dipped it in a sort of cup, then, still more slowly,
brought it to her lips.

Yes. She was alive; for she munched, calmly and dispassionately.

The sight impressed me. It was like Fate; or an ancient priestess
performing mysterious rites. Clotho would look like this, if Clotho
would munch instead of spin.

Meantime the inevitable butcher's boy had joined me. Two of them,
indeed, stood at my side, curious to know what interested the
+vreemdeling+.

The old lady never winced under the scrutiny, but put forth her hand
again for another shell.

There was a book-stall near, but nobody at it, as far as I could see.
The whole street sounded hollow; and everything dripped. It made me
shiver to look at the stone-pillars, oozy and moist, with condensed
sea-fog trickling down. The glaring street-lamps hardly lit up the
scene; but they showed the damp. Polyphemus gave a distant whoop, as if
it were his last: and the Spectre munched. She hadn't once looked up.

It all felt like a dream--except for the butchers' boys.

"Wat doet ze--die oude mejuffrouw?" I enquired.

"Ze zit te eten," was the prompt reply.

"Waarom zit ze te eten daar?" I asked.

"Om dat ze trek heeft!"

A snigger went round the company. Evidently that reply was of the
nature of wit; and they expected something sparkling from me in return.

+But+ I couldn't sparkle.

"+Trek+" was unknown to me. Strange, how you can be bowled over by
a simple word, if you've never heard it. Trekken--trok--getrokken,
was familiar. That meant 'to pull,' 'draw,' or 'wander'.
"Trekschuit"--"trekpot"--"trekvogel"; I had them all labelled on my
desk in the Hague. But "trek" itself, what was that exactly? Provided
of course, the youth were grammatical,--which I very much doubted.

"Zij heeft getrokken," however, when I tried it, only raised new
difficulties. +What+ then did she pull, and +why+?

'Trekvogel' was an alluring idea to follow up, in a town where Jan
Olieslagers' fame was universal: but common sense forbade my pursuing
that line far.

The defects of my home-made Berlitz became painfully evident. It's
humiliating, when you have your 2000 new nouns at your fingers' ends,
and hundreds of old ones; and yet can't understand the first thing a
+knecht+ says.

But the bystanders were growing impatient; so--to withdraw gracefully--I
enquired, "wat is _trek_?"

It was probably the best retort I could have made. "Ja, wat is het?" he
soliloquised, evidently puzzled, "Ik weet het niet. Maar ik heb altijd
trek."

"Ik ook", said a smaller boy; "in een boterham."

Tongues were loosened on all sides. "Nee; in een lekker stuk worst,"
I heard one say.

"Nee; niet waar"; interrupted a brawny fellow with a brick-red face;
"Zuurkool en spek."

I nipped the unprofitable discussion in the bud by demanding, as I
moved away: "Maar wat _is_ trek?"

"Dat weet je wel," said the first fellow, the wit. "Als je te veel eet."

"Nee, heelemaal niet," jeered a late-comer. "Kan je begrijpen! Maar als
je +niets+ eet, +dan+ heb je trek!"

The crowd cheered at this. He had evidently the majority with him. High
words followed; and the controversy became general, as the protagonists
in this psychological debate found backers, and swarmed away towards
the centre of town.

I was left alone, and Clotho looked up.

She dipped a periwinkle in one of the weird cups, and held it towards
me.

"Heeft Mijnheer trek?" Would I join in the repast!

"Ik? Duizendmaal verschooning!" I said, as I quickened my pace in rapid
retreat.

My confusion increased as I reflected that I had probably been urging
my late interlocutors to "define appetite"--a thing even Aristotle could
hardly do. Naturally the populace broke into parties--Aristotelians and
Platonists (let us say), or into Hoekschen en Kabeljauwschen.

In any case my confidence was shaken in my improved, home-made Berlitz.
It might be splendid for travelling; but in ordinary life it didn't
seem to cover the ground.

On arriving at my lodgings I was met at the door by the landlady's son.
He was beaming. Lately he had been working up his English, and truly
had made giant strides.

"Koot eeffening, Sir," he said; "Koot eeffening! Ai hef an little chat."
"+I wish to have a chat+", he _seemed_ to mean.

It was an odd request for a trifling practice in English; but I like to
encourage merit, so I assured him of my willingness to have a friendly
talk.

"Oh, yes. All right," I said. "But won't you come up stairs? We have a
few minutes before supper."

"But--Ai hef +here+ an naiz little chat!"

"Ah, just so. Did you perhaps have a talk with some one in English when
I was away?"

"No, sir; but ai _hef_ een chat."

This was bewildering; and as he seemed puzzled, too, and always stuck
to the same noun I investigated more fully.

"You talk of a _chat_!--dat is een praatje, weet je wel?"

"Nee, mijnheer, heus: het is waar. Geen praatje."

We were half-way up the stairs now. "Come on", I said.

"Vayt", he replied, diving into some recess. "Ai vil let see you."

In an instant he was back with something under his coat. This he
produced with the delighted exclamation: "ze little chat!"

It was a bedraggled kitten that he had discovered wandering about in
the fog and mewing piteously. "Vil you hef him? Anders, zegt moe, hij
kan niet blijven."

"I'll talk to your mother about the kitten," I answered.
"Kitten,--that's what we call it--not chat. Maar hoor eens, jongen,
heeft het poesje trek?"

"O mijnheer, verbazend!" was the ecstatic reply; and in another three
minutes he had a saucer of milk under the foundling's nose, and was
watching kitty's lapping operations with a joy as keen as that of kitty
herself.

I had got what I wanted without any philosophic argument. There was the
proof.

_Trek_ is _appetite_.




CHAPTER IX.

THE THUNDERSTORM.

THE NORTH SEA COAST.--AN EXQUISITE DAWN.--A MORNING WALK.--BY THE
SUMMER SEA.--LOST IN THE DUNES.--NO FOOD FOR SALE.--AN ORDINARY
BAKER.--THE BROKEN SIESTA.--WOU JE ETEN?--BETAALD ZETTEN.--YOU DON'T
QUITE FOLLOW.--REPARTEE UNDER DIFFICULTIES.


I must tell you about that great walk we took from Leyden to Haarlem.
That was just after Terence came back from Germany, wearied with waiting
till his learned Dad would cease pottering about the museums in Bonn.

He wrote to van Leeuwen in Arnhem; and urged that youth use his
influence with the University Librarian to let Dr. MacNamara see the
Irish manuscripts he was so keen upon. Then, if you please, my brave
Terence thought his duties were over, as far as helping his father was
concerned. Taking the next train for the Hague he turned up unexpectedly
at my lodgings.

That was at six in the morning, and he banged at my bedroom door till
I was awake.

"I'm back," he said: "And I'm going to carry you off on that famous
bicycle tour of yours. Hurry up with all those papers and preparations
and things,--and I'll be round with my bike in no time!"

"Well!" I shouted through the closed door, "you may come as soon as ever
you like; but there'll be no bicycle tour to-day. I'm not nearly ready
yet. I've all the nouns from T to Z to learn yet; and it'll take me
another week. Catch me leaving this neighbourhood without those nouns!
No, my boy. But I'll take a tramp with you to the seaside, if you like."

He didn't wait for my explanations but pranced off grumbling, and I
didn't see him till noon. He was then quite willing to fall in with my
project of a long walk--first by the strand to Noordwijk, then inland
through the dunes, and so on to Haarlem.

We only got as far as Noordwijk that evening. After a heavy miserable
trudge by the shore, and mostly through loose sand, we were glad enough
to put up at Huis-ter-Duin for the night. The sunset, magnificent
though it was, could hardly banish the deep sleepiness that seized us.
Terence, who was in better training than I, sat up smoking a while, but
I heard him go off to his room before I fell over. All the music,
laughter, and talk about the place, never in the slightest degree
disturbed our slumber.

I slept like a log, and awoke early, with the sound of the sea in my
ears. It was a softly modulated, gentle murmur that seemed to call me;
and when I looked out, the view was superb. Deep blue, almost indigo in
hue, and calm as oil, the waves stood high on the sands. Every now and
then a long, knife-like billow would slowly rise up for half-a-mile or
so, poise itself for an instant, and then fall with a mighty flap, like
a wall of slate. Away out towards the horizon the ocean gleamed a
fairy-like blue and opal; but close at hand it had a deep, menacing
tint that took your breath away. And all the time those slatey ledges
of water kept languidly lifting themselves and suddenly dropping, as
if they were alive.

When I opened the window, a cool wind softly stole in--like some subtle
elixir. I looked at my watch. It was half past four. Fired with the
idea of having a tramp by that mysterious light, I went off and roused
Terence--happily without terrifying the other inmates of the hotel. He
was willing to make an early start if I could secure him enough
breakfast.

This required some diplomacy. Suddenly encountering a _knecht_ prowling
about and collecting boots, I tried to communicate our plans to him,
and gain his sympathy. No idiom, however, that I was acquainted with
was equal to this strain: so I had recourse to the language of gesture
and the display of coin. This at last induced him to bring us part of
his own modest breakfast--a chunk of black bread and a hard-boiled
egg--and to let us out by the front door.

He kept our bags, however, and a bankbiljet, to settle the rekening
provisionally, and as an evidence of good faith. It was a fussy business
getting him to agree even to this, and in consequence I quite forgot
about my dictionary and "walking-tour notes"--which were strapped up
in the bag.

Indeed, I didn't notice the neglect till we were far away from the
hotel. But there was no Dutch needed for a long time.

It was an exhilarating experience to go careering along by that weird,
threatening sea in the fresh morning air. The scent of herbs and
wild-flowers on the dunes greeted us when we took a turn inland: and
the colours of everything around us kept changing with incredible
swiftness.

At first we couldn't keep our eyes off the mirror-like expanse of
water. Its slate became steel-blue--the steel-blue deepened into purple
shading off into amethyst, while the sky and the air all about us grew
rosy, then saffron, then silver.

Over and across the rolling hills we trudged, our spirits rising every
instant. Why shouldn't we keep on till we got opposite Haarlem, then
strike off east, do that city, and return by rail? Why not indeed?
Huis-ter-Duin and its slippered knecht could settle the matter of the
rekening and the change, by post; and we should make a day of it!

So we climbed up and down along the edge of the grassy <DW72>s, till the
tide retired from the sands a little. There we had a delightful hour,
along the firm damp shore. It grew sultry after a while; yet it was
only a quarter to eight. There would be more heat yet! Alternately we
tried the dunes and the beach--the beach and the dunes--but there was
no shelter from the sun; and the pleasant wind had died down. After an
other couple of hours' toil through the hot, loose sand we decided we
had enough of the coast for the day, and followed a kind of winding
path inland. This was a regular cart-track at first, and promised to
lead us to some thriving village where we could have a rest. But it
didn't. It twined round a score of scattered potatoe plots, and then
came to an abrupt and ignominious end against a wire fence, on the top
of a hill. No doubt we ought to have gone back and kept along the shore.
But we were too hungry to think of returning to the desolation we had
left. What we wanted was to see houses as soon as possible--houses
containing eatables and cool rooms and chairs. Besides, we were as yet
pretty confident of our geographical whereabouts; accordingly we pushed
on for Haarlem--as we thought.

Well, it was a great mistake! The map makes the dunes only a few miles
broad at most, yet we climbed up and down for hours, and couldn't get
clear of them.

Once we saw a fisherman at a distance and we yelled to him. He answered
"terug" very faintly, and waved both arms. We hurried to meet him, but
not a trace of him was to be found. Though the heat was intense, after
a while shimmery haze began to spread over the sky, and there came a
sudden change. It got dark and cold; and the storm that had been
threatening all day burst on us with fury. In two or three minutes we
were drenched. There was a marvellous display of sheet lightning so
curious and varied that for a while it diverted our attention from our
miserable plight, as we stumbled on over soaked hillocks and sand. We
had a good hour of this.

In a dismal grove of non-descript-shrubs, we at last stumbled upon a
trifling shelter, just as the rain was ceasing; and there we shivered
like aspens, till the truth dawned upon us that there was a faint sound
of human voices over the <DW72>. "Hurrah!" we shouted. "Relief at
last--and a chance of something to eat!"

Stiff and dripping though we were, we positively bounded over the sand
hill.

Two or three small one-storied cottages came soon into view. Rushing
into the first--it looked like a shop, and had the words _garen en
band_ over the window--we demanded pointedly if we could get food. The
youngish woman who ambled slowly to and fro behind the counter, said
she had no coffee or bread for us, but we could get these things in
Haarlem. There was a good restaurant there.

"Geen ei?" I asked.

No; not even an egg for sale.

Very disappointed we retired, still dripping, and gloomier than ever;
but as we left the winkel I espied a group of schoolchildren, with
capes round their heads, dancing along merrily hand in hand. They were
evidently coming from school. Such bright blue eyes, such plump and
rosy cheeks suggested that food was plentiful wherever they lived.
There must be a butcher and a baker near, I concluded; and by a happy
inspiration I turned back to the depressing _garen en band_ shop, and
enquired where the local baker was to be found.

"Is er een baker hier?" I enquired politely of the lethargic juffrouw.

She woke up immediately. "Ja, zeker!" was the prompt reply. "Net
gisteren thuis gekomen!"

This was all right, of course. Why does he come home and go away, I
wondered. But, after all, that was a small matter. He was at home now.
A peripatetic baker, perhaps, might be some very special and clever
artist in pies and tarts and rich cake--and it was the humble, ordinary
baker that we were in search of. I stated this. "Geen banket baker is
noodig, juffrouw!" I explained. "Een gewonen baker bedoel ik--een
gewonen alledaagschen baker. Bestaat er een hier?"

She had meantime summoned two young men from a sort of den behind the
shop, and now communicated my wishes to them with an interest and an
animation that I hadn't expected. They led us rapidly half a mile
across fields, and then up a little lane. The last few yards were done
in good record time, I should say.

This sympathetic promptitude we highly appreciated, as we felt now more
and more famished, the nearer we approached provisions. We reached the
baker's house breathless, and were ushered panting into a kind of
waiting room. At least you couldn't call it a shop exactly.

When the baker came into this apartment (by the way it was a woman,
that turned up--a portly and middle-aged woman) we noticed that she was
rather dishevelled, as if just awakened from a much needed siesta. I
was sorry, but not surprised. Bakers are often that way, you know. They
bake during the night, and sleep during the day. Thus they are rather
drowsy and cross, if you wake them up. She looked both. There was a
portentous frown upon her brow; and really, she seemed somewhat of the
virago type. That made me doubly polite.

"Duizendmaal vergiffenis, banketbaker!" I apologised with my best bow.
"Het spijt mij geweldig.--Maar zult gij zoo goed willen zijn--?"

"Ja ja!" she interrupted impatiently; "Waar? Heb je een rijtuig?"

"Een rijtuig?" I exclaimed in bewilderment. "Nee. Ik heb geen rijtuig.
Maar mag ik u beleefd verzoeken of U zoo goed--."

"Ja, ja! Is er haast bij?" She broke in again.

"Wel zeker!" I replied courteously, "Veel haast. Wij zijn verbazend
hongerig."

But she was gone, and hadn't heard the last remark. In a moment or two
she reappeared, fully dressed, tying the strings of her bonnet.

As I waited a second before repeating my request, she grew most
unreasonably irritable, and actually stamped her foot, exclaiming
disrespectfully: "Gaauw nouw! gaauw een beetje."

"Ja baker!" I answered. "Wilt gij zoo goed zijn, twee boterhammetjes en
twee glaasjes melk te brengen?"

She stopped titivating herself at the mirror, and turning round groaned
in a voice of horror: "Wou je eten?"

"Ja," I contrived to put in, as politely as I could; "als U zoo goed
wilt zijn."

"Maar schaam jullie niet? bent jullie kinderen dat je nouw om een
boterham moet vragen?"

It was plain she was a good deal ruffled. Accordingly to appease and
conciliate her I smiled again, and said deferentially: "Het heeft niets
te beduiden. Wij moeten een heel klein boterhammetje gebruiken. Een
sneedje brood zonder iets--dat is ook goed."

She seemed stunned by this harmless announcement; and I deemed it
prudent to offer her a bribe of some kind. The simplest plan was to
promise to pay her well for any trifle we took.

"Het is een kleinigheid," I told her--"niets dan een kleinigheid. Maar
ik zal het je betaald zetten."

That loosened her tongue. Her natural fluency asserted itself and
appeared to fine advantage. But she was so needlessly excited that I
knew there must be a misunderstanding somewhere. Accordingly to remove
all haziness I just indicated that she had failed to grasp my meaning.
The idiom for this I fortunately recollected. _You don't quite follow_
was one of those choice specimens of local colour that, by frequent
repetition, I had thoroughly imprinted on my memory.

"Duizendmaal verschooning," I said heartily, "bent U soms niet goed
snik?"

The effect of this well meant apology was electrical. The woman really
became very rude. She got pale and grabbed at a chair. As we withdrew
unostentatiously, we noticed her springing in our direction and talking.
It was the most fluent talk I had yet heard in Dutch. She did not
hesitate one instant for gender, number, or case. It rained, hailed and
stormed terrible words--werkwoorden, voorzetsels, and especially
tusschenwerpsels.

Terence and I ran.

On reaching safety outside Terence asked me: "What was she angry about?"

"Oh," I answered, "as likely as not it's something out of the grammar. I
believe I didn't use the right idiom. You have to be very particular
about these things, you see.

I said vragen _voor_ een boterham, I think; and it should be vragen
_om_. Still she made far too big a fuss over it: and I'd tell her so, if
I could."

When we got outside of her garden plot and had latched the gate behind
us, I turned to wave our grammarian a graceful adieu.

"Baker!" I said. "Banket baker! Wees niet zoo kleinzeerig. Niet zoo
kwaalijknemend hoor! Wij zijn niet tegen je opgewassen. Maar",--and
here I sank my voice to a confidential whisper, to make the irrelevancy
sound as like wit as possible,--"maar, U weet nooit hoe een koe een
haas vangt!"

I still flatter myself that the exit was worthy of the occasion.




CHAPTER X.

THE DEVOTED NURSE.

AN ACCIDENT.--THE SUITOR'S MISTAKE.--NO DUTCH NEEDED.--JAN'S
INCOHERENCES.--EEN STUK OF EEN.--KITTY GIVES KOPJES.--A QUIET SLEEP.


"Wel," continued Jack; "it was these experiences that made me begin to
doubt the value of my Berlitz soliloquy-method. But Terence helped me
to give the system a really good trial; and he worked as hard as I did.

It was quite different with Kathleen. When she came back from Germany,
she was keen on art, but apparently had been moping about something.
And she refused to study any more Dutch.

That was before the accident, you see. After that, she was quite angelic
and nursed her father assiduously, and the landlady's little son, too.

You know, of course, that uncle got a severe shock from a motor-bike
along the canal. Jan who had been prowling around, to give his "chat"
an airing, ran across just in time to push the absent-minded old
gentleman out of the way. But the lad was thrown on the ground and
badly hurt. Uncle pulled round soon enough--his indignation at the
motor cyclist helped him, as he had some vague idea, if he were up and
about, he could get the culprit arrested. But Jan grew steadily worse
for the first week. The violent fall and the bruise were both very bad
for the plucky youngster.

Kathleen kept going back and forward, looking after the sufferers. She
said she never could repay Jan enough for saving her father's life. It
appears to have been a 'close shave', at the edge of that deep canal;
and Uncle nearly had them all in.

As a matter of fact, he had spent the morning with me, telling me about
his grand 'find' of original Celtic manuscripts in Germany, and about
van Leeuwen's kindness. I never saw him so taken with anybody! In Bonn
he had got wind of these precious Celtic relics; and, as everything
was closed at the University at that time of the year, he worried
and fumed, till he met some of the authorities that knew van Leeuwen.
Immediately he had banged off a telegram to Arnhem, requesting van
Leeuwen's private influence; and, to his delight, that young man came
joyfully in person. Of course he would! It was too good a chance to be
missed. Indeed it was just the opportunity he wanted. And yet he and
Kathleen quarrelled fiercely over trifles all the time.

But I was telling you about my uncle's escape. It seems he was ambling
along in his usual oblivious style, on the sunny side of the street,
when he stopped (no doubt painfully near the edge of the canal) to
note down something that occurred to him for his book. Just then a
motor-cycle turned the corner at a fiendish speed, and was nearly over
him. Uncle is the most helpless of mortals at such times--and he was
stepping hurriedly into the canal, when Jan bounded across the road
and pulled him right.

The bike-tourist must have been a heartless fellow; for he never
swerved, but bore down at full tilt on both rescuer and rescued, while
they were still on the edge of the water.

The youthful Jan, however, is both original and daring; for he turned
the motor man aside as cleverly as if he had Boyton in his hand.

He either flung himself or his cap against the advancing horror.
Terence says it was the kitten he threw. In any case the little fellow
did, as a last resource, try to protect both his dear kitty and the
Engelschen Mijnheer, at some risk to himself. The "chat" was unharmed,
but fled up an adjacent elm, whence it had to be coaxed down at dusk
with endless saucerfuls of milk.

This task Kathleen took on herself, after we discovered that Dr.
MacNamara, though shaken, was not injured. Nothing would have pleased
you better than to have seen her beaming face as she brought the
trembling little kitty to Jan's bedside. She didn't know a word of
Dutch; but managed to communicate quite easily, by signs, with Jan's
mother, whom she promised to come often and see.

We all assumed, at first, that the little fellow had escaped scot-free;
but, in a day or two, he was in high fever, and unconscious. He had got
a contusion, the doctor said, and would be confined to his cot for
weeks.

It was marvellous to see how Kathleen comforted the poor mother,
without either grammar, Polite Dialogue, or the use of Het.

I grew quite jealous and envious. Here was I who had been slaving at
syntax and accidence for weeks, and I couldn't carry on an intelligent
conversation for two minutes without deviating into metaphysics, or
getting into a quarrel; while my cousin (who said she hated Dutch)
could get through the niceties of sick-room nursing, and the subtleties
of heartening up the poor hysterical mother, with the utmost ease and
success.

And I knew for certain that she couldn't go through the Present
Optative of 'ik graauw, ik kef en ik kweel', or give one of the rules
for gij (lieden)--no, not to save her life. But she was never at a
loss, for all that. A more devoted nurse, indeed, I cannot imagine.

At the crisis, when the little sufferer was really in danger, she used
to watch by him hours at a stretch, to relieve the helpless mother.

The serious turn came all at once; and no aid was at hand. Jan was in
pain, and wandered in his talk, crying out that the motor-fiets was
hunting him into the canal, for having rescued a +vreemdeling+; and
pouring forth such a torrent of elementary English and Boyton-Dutch as
surprised us all.

I fancy it was, in part, my early translations he had treasured up; for
some of my mistakes about handcuffs and dogcollars figured amid the
incoherences; and it was pitiable to hear him plead for a +zie beneden+
to wrap round his injured arm--already bandaged as tightly as he could
bear it.

Then he kept ringing the changes on an expression I must have used in
argument with his mother the day I persuaded her to keep his bedraggled
foundling.

"Het is geen menigte poesjes, zegt Mijnheer; het is maar een stuk of
een. Heus, moe, laat hem blijven. Niet bang, hoor, schattie, je bent
maar een stuk of een! Pas op, Mijnheer, daar komt de fiets!" And so on
+da capo+.

So wild and restless was he, the second evening of the fever, that we
had to summon the doctor unexpectedly, quite late.

Yes; his condition was disquieting, and we must get him to sleep. It
was largely a matter of nursing, at the moment; new medicine was sent
for; his head was to be kept cool; and only one watcher was to remain
in the room. Above all, no noise. If the English juffrouw, who seemed
to understand the lad's state, would consent to sit up to two or three
o'clock, so much the better. The excited mother could have a rest
meantime. Otherwise she would be fit for nothing next day.

But no sooner had the good doctor softly closed the front door, than my
landlady declared it was her intention to watch all night.

Kathleen was at her wits' end. In vain did she make signs and talk
emphatic English in her high voice, or try coaxing with a bit of the
brogue. All her feminine free-masonry failed to communicate the
faintest idea to the mother.

Uncle MacNamara, who had been waiting to take his daughter back to the
Doelen, tried moral suasion in his own particular brand of German, and
even in other tongues.--Terence says his father recited a well-known
passage from the Iliad in his eagerness to be persuasive!--But all
without avail. She wouldn't heed anybody; and she wouldn't go; she sat
close to the cot, rocking violently to and fro, and moaning "Mijn eigen
kind! mijn eigen kind!"

The little fevered face was puckered with a new perplexity at the sound
of all this grief and the familiar voice.

"Moeder," he cried, "moederr! Daar komt ie weer! Hij wou me in 't water
gooien. Moeder, vasthoue, hoor!"

It was most painful; for my landlady's impending hysterics were making
the lad worse every moment.

"Is poesje ook weggeloopen?" he said presently. A happy thought struck
Kathleen. She stole downstairs, and presently returned with the 'chat',
which was purring vigorously and giving 'kopjes'.

As she placed the soft furry creature in Jan's hands, he stopped
moaning and stroked it joyfully. "Dag, Kitty!" he said with delight.
"Ben je terug?"

Apparently he thought it was I who had restored the wanderer, for he
explained: "Geen praatje, mijnheer: Zat is mine naiz litle chat."

Then, exhausted and satisfied, he dropped into a sound sleep.




CHAPTER XI.

GOSSIP AND DIPLOMACY.

THE DISCOURAGED SUITOR.--WILL KATHLEEN STUDY DUTCH?--AN INTERESTING
COACH.--THE DIPLOMATIC EPISTLE.--THE BRINK OF A ROMANCE.--WELL EARNED
REPOSE.


The strain was over; and the little lad slumbered peacefully,--until
dawn, as it proved. We got the mother gradually quieted, and at last
induced to go off to bed, leaving Kathleen in charge for the night.
About half-past-one, Terence and I, growing hungry, extemporised a sort
of pic-nic in the kitchen; but Kathleen wouldn't touch anything we
brought her.

It was then I began to notice how grave she was, and silent.

But I must say, nobody could be more devoted than she was to the
youthful invalid.

He awoke rather early after his timely sleep, but much calmer. And--a
good sign--he had a healthy 'trek', which we were gratified to see in
operation upon 'beschuit' and 'melk', before his mother arrived to
resume the reins of authority.

As we escorted Kathleen to her hotel in the cool of the morning, we
found her singularly irresponsive, not to say depressed; and I somehow
got wind of the fact that van Leeuwen, who had motored up to the Hague,
on hearing of her father's accident, had been prowling about the Vieux
Doelen ever since. He had visited Dr. MacNamara almost every day; but
Kathleen had kept studiously aloof.

"I know he likes father," she said, "and I'm glad he came so often to
see him. Not very interesting, otherwise! In any case he has suddenly
vanished into space!"

The evening before, when she was on her way to my landlady's to watch by
the sick boy, van Leeuwen had met her right in front of the Mauritshuis.
But she had treated him with such stately indifference, and greeted his
remarks with such frigid courtesy, that the good-natured fellow was
really hurt. He had in fact returned the same evening to Arnhem.

Kathleen said she was very glad, except for her father's sake. But she
didn't give one the impression of being enthusiastic about it, and I
drew my own conclusions.

On reaching the Doelen, we found a hasty scrawl from the very man we
had been talking of--van Leeuwen--inviting Terence and myself to a
cycling tour in his neighbourhood.

"Well, then, I'll go next Friday," Terence broke out; "at least, if
you're ready then, Jack. We'll have a grand time. Dad is all right now;
and that funny little kid is on the mend. So we can go with a clear
conscience. Say, yes."

"Ah, that's like you boys", said Kathleen banteringly, but without the
ghost of a smile, "to go cycling about, enjoying yourselves, no matter
what happens to others! I'm still anxious about that child. And I do
wish I understood him better when he talks."

"As for that", I interrupted, "I'll give you the key to it, in an
instant. Jan's reminiscences are all about my Dutch. Well, I'll lend
you my diary, and the most entertaining Grammar in Holland. Besides,
I've written a monograph on obvious blunders, English into Dutch. Read
these, now, when you're tending this convalescent boy-hero of yours.
He'll understand them, I'll be bound; and it'll shake him up, and do
you a world of good yourself."

"What a silly cousin, to be sure!" she replied. "You forget, sir, I
need some one to explain all your double-Dutch. Get me a 'coach' now,
a competent one, who knows everything, and I'll give your booklet a
trial."

"Done!" I said, as we parted.

And I held her to it. My diary kept her amused for a couple of days, as
she watched in the sick-room. It roused her out of her depression, and
she got into the way of reading things to Jan as he recovered.

She couldn't remain quite smileless; but grew interested enough in
Dutch to demand my monograph and--above all--the Grammar!

"You shall have them both," I assured her,--"the booklet on the spot;
and the Grammar, when I get as far as Arnhem and don't need to use it
for a while."

"Couldn't I have it sooner? I'm dying with curiosity to see that awful
book. Or, when you are there, and any of your friends are coming to the
Hague, just send it with them."

"Yes. There's a 'coach' coming up in a day or two. I'll send it along."

I fancied her eyes gave a bit of a flicker. But she was meek and
friendly: so I knew it was all right. She hadn't asked what kind of
coach. But she's intelligent.

That very instant I went home and wrote van Leeuwen that we--Terence
and I--were starting next day, by train, for Arnhem, whence we should
have a run through Gelderland.

There was no note-paper in the house, but I couldn't wait. So I a
penned what I had to say on a series of visiting cards,--numbering
them: 1, 2, 3 up to 10, and enclosing them in a portly yellow envelope.
It was the only thing I had. I was pleased to notice its impressive
aspect, as that would prevent its getting lost readily.

For I attached much importance to that communication.

In it I prepared van Leeuwen's mind, indirectly and circuitously, for
apprehending the idea that Miss MacNamara was now deeply interested in
Dutch; and was studying it to help her in nursing that sick boy. Also
that, as she had grown much too sombre of late with the responsibilities
she had assumed, we were trying to brighten her up. When the lad was
quite well, we should all do the Friesland meres, before we returned
to Kilkenny. But not for a while yet.

And so on. I hinted as distantly as I could, that he had motored back to
Arnhem a trifle too soon. We were _all_ sorry he had left so suddenly.
Even yet, if he would leave his camera at home--the one with the loud
click--and if he wouldn't be too exclusively immersed in Celtic
manuscripts, and avoided arguing about the Suffragettes, when he did
meet with the MacNamara family, there was no reason to suppose that his
offences were beyond pardon. All this in shadowy outline--for fear he
would motor up like a Fury, and either break his neck on the way, or
spoil everything by premature action.

I made the haze quite thick, here and there, on the visiting
cards--their form lent itself to obscurity--and I told him I should
see him without fail within twenty-four hours.

"I might have to ask a favour at his hands about a grammar.

Terence was well: the Doctor was well, went to Leyden daily to the
Library. We expected to reach Velperweg toward midday. Don't be out."

I posted the yellow missive with my own hands, and reckoned out by the
'bus-lichting' plate, that it would be collected that night.

"Tour or no tour, to-morrow," I said to myself, heaving a sigh of
relief, after my race to the pillar-box; "We're on the brink of a
romance, if the protagonists only knew it. A little bad Dutch now seems
all that is required. And we can rely on Boyton."

Queer, when you think of it, that you sometimes hold people's destinies
in the hollow of your hand!

However, I didn't philosophise much, but got to sleep as soon as ever I
could,--content as from a good day's work.




CHAPTER XII.

A STUDY IN CHARACTER.

AN UNWELCOME INTERRUPTION.--THE LINGUIST AND THE SATELLITE.--THE
BACKSLIDER.--DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?--HE MEANS THE EAST END.--WAKE UP,
JOHN BULL.--GOUDA HISTORICAL.--FOREIGNERS DON'T GET THE HANG OF IT.--A
CONFIDENT YOUNGSTER.--AN ENGLISH UNCLE FOR CLAAS.--DRAM-DRINKING AT
EIGHT?--WUIF ES, OOM!--HIS BARK IS WORSE THAN HIS BITE.


Next morning we were up at dawn to be in time for the first express. We
cycled to the station; but a row of market-boats, that had reached the
one and only canal-bridge on our route, kept us waiting till they filed
past; and we missed our train.

"Choost kon!" exclaimed a porter cheerfully, as he took our cycles.
"Day-train choost away--von--two--meenit--ako!"

"Never mind", I rejoined. "There are plenty of day-trains left. It's
early yet."

As he looked doubtful, I added in the vernacular: "Wij zijn in goeje
tijd voor den bommel; nie-waar? Zes vier en veertig."

"Net, mijnheer", he replied, grinning appreciation of my Dutch, as he
led the way to the +loket+.

There were no difficulties there. You merely had to say. "Twee enkele
reis, Arnhem. Tweede klasse. Gewone biljetten," and there you were. And
these '+gewone biljetten+' made the forwarding of the cycles simplicity
itself.

Duly provided with the forthcoming +fiets-papiertjes+ we ensconced
ourselves in a non-smoker, and--to while away the time--rehearsed our
Traveller's Dialogue. That is the system I had made out long since, but
now partly forgotten. Terence had benefited by my tuition, and could
now keep the ball rolling, with more or less relevant remarks, whilst
I enumerated the parts of a train, and talked about tickets and towns.

So smoothly did our conversation run that we were tempted to repeat
it with variations; and we were just in the middle of as fine an
elocutionary practice as ever you heard, when there was a scramble on
the platform; and in there bounded into our compartment--just as the
train began to move off--three tourists, hot and breathless!

They were Englishmen,--London shopkeepers in a small way, I guessed,
from their talk. Two of them, father and son, seemed a bit hectoring
and dictatorial; the third was an admiring satellite. For very shame's
sake Terence and I didn't like to drop our Dialogue as if we were
culprits; so we lowered our voices, and went through it to the bitter
end.

Our new companions listened for a moment, and the truculent father said,
"Neouw, there y'are, Tom! wot's hall that tork abeout? You kneouw the
lingo."

Master Tom--he was about nineteen--posed, apparently, as a linguist. He
knew the language all right, he said. "It was kind of debased German.
He had picked it up from a boy at school. It was the sime to 'im as
Hinglish."

"Wottaw thiy siyin, Tom?" said the father.

"Oh," muttered Tom, "abeout the kaind 'v dai it is, an', hall thet
rot. But no use listenin' to them. They tork such a bad patois, an'
hungrimmentikil."

The satellite looked impressed. "D'ye tork 't 's wull 's French an'
Juh'man?" he asked.

"Hall the sime to me", said Tom. "The sime 'z Hinglish."

The satellite's awe deepened. Presently, however, he spied the cattle
in the fields as we sped along. He pointed them out to Tom. "Fine
ceouws, miy wu'd!"

"Humph! better in Bu'kshire!" replied the linguist.

In a minute or two he broke out again: "Lot 'v ceouws in a field here,
Tom!"

"Faugh!" said Tom; "faw mo' 'n Essex!"

But the man of humility had an eye for landscape, and couldn't be
repressed.

"Ho, crikkie", he exclaimed, "look at that meadow an' canal. Ain't it
stunnin'?"

But the father came to his son's rescue in defence of Old England.
"Yeou jist go deouwn Nawf'k wiy! Faw better th'n this wretched 'ole!"

The satellite evidently felt reproved for his lack of patriotism, for
he subsided immediately. But he couldn't help himself. You might see
by the way he looked out of the window that he was in ecstasies over
the glowing panorama before him, in spite of Norfolk and Essex and the
contempt of his fellow-travellers.

Meantime Terence, fuming and in disgust, had buried himself in the
columns of Tit-Bits. The truculent one recognised the familiar weekly,
and drawing his son's attention to both reader and paper he announced
quite audibly; "'E can read Hinglish. 'E looks hintelligent."

Advancing half way across the carriage, he cleared his throat, and
addressed Terence at the top of his voice.

"Do you--a hem!--a hem!--do you--_speak Hinglish?_"

One could have heard the last two words in the next compartment.

Terence looked up; and I saw by the twinkle in his eye what he was
going to do.

"Hein?" he interrogated with a nasal whoop like a subdued trumpet. He
had learnt this at school from his French teacher and was a profiscient
at rendering it accurately. It gave an unconventional flavour to his
manner--which was just what he wished.

"Hein?" he trumpeted again, with an air of amiable curiosity.

"I hawskt--do you--hem!--_speak_--_Hinglish?_"

"Ze Engels Langwitch? Yes: I shpeak him--von leetle bit. You alzoo?"

"Hi 'm 'n Englishman," said the truculent one proudly, a trifle taken
aback.

"Zoo?" replied Terence. "Ach zoo. Ja. Jawohl. Zoo gaat 't.
Beauti-ful--lang-witch! Beauti--ful!" he enunciated with painful
distinctness and many twitches of his face.

All this fell in with the tourists' preconceived ideas of foreign
utterance. They exchanged glances.

"You kin mike yors'ff hunderstood, hall raight," interposed the
linguist. "Were you ever in London."

"Oh, yes," answered my cousin slowly, counting off upon his fingers.
"Alzoo--von--two--tree--time--Mooch peoples--in Londe."

"Did you like London?" queried Truculence Senior.

"Londe?--No! No--boddy like Londe.--Fery ugly! Mooch smoke--alzoo
fogk.--Men see nozzing. Mooch poor peoples--No boots."

"Not like London!! Why London's the gritest city in the wu'ld."

"I pity me mooch--for London peoples."

"Let'm aleoun, gov'ner," said the linguist, furious. "It's the Heast
End 'e's got in 'is 'ed."

"But the Heouses 'v Pawl'mint--and the Tride?" reasoned the father,
reluctant to abandon the controversy.

"Houses Parliament?--nozzing!" said Terence recklessly. "Trade?--alzoo
nozzing! American man hef all ze trade. Fery clever. Alzoo German man.
Fery clever."

That was a clincher. Terence had amply avenged their contempt of the
scenery they were passing through.

"Let the bloomin' ass aleoun", cried Truculence junior. "'E deoun't
kneouw wot 'e's torkin' abeout."

But the shot had gone home. The papers had been full of "Wake up, John
Bull!" of late, and he felt uncomfortable. Yet though we relapsed into
silence, it wasn't for long. For soon the senior member of the trio
got very exasperated with a local railway-guide that he had been
consulting. "Bit of a muddle that!" he cried contemptuously, flinging
the booklet on the seat. "Cawn't mike 'ed or tile of it!"

He turned to my cousin: "Can you tell me 'ow far it is to Gooday--or
Goodee?"

Terence replied briskly in appalling English: "Goodee--I know-not. Zat
iss nozzing. Good-day, zat is Goejen-dag!"

"Look 'ere," said the tourist; "'Ere you aw!" pointing to the name of
the place on his Cook's ticket.

"Oh," said Terence, getting so foreign as to be scarcely intelligible.
"Zat-iss--Gouda. Beaut-ti-ful city!" And he rolled his eyes in
apparent awe at the magnificence of that unpretentious market-town.
"Ex-qui-seet!"

"Ow far is it?" queried his interlocutor. "Ow long, in the trine--to
Gouda?"

"Alzoo," returned my cousin, purposely misunderstanding him. "Yes; ferry
long. Long times. Ferry old ceety. Much years. Tree--four--century!
Historique!"

"Yes, yes," said the impatient traveller. "But--wen--d'we--arrive? get
there--you kneouw--?"

"You vil arrive," pronounced Terence in the same baby-English,
"haff--of--ze--klok."

"Hawf 'n eour; that wot 'e's drivin' et," grumbled the Linguist.

They kept on asking questions and criticising us to our faces, when
they talked together. Our dress, our appearance, our complexions were
all adjudged to be woefully foreign; and they got so patronising that
I had to put in an odd word, in real English, to Terence, now and again,
just to prevent them going too far. Imperceptibly conversation became
general; and as I forced Terence out of his assumed ignorance of
English, the surprise of the tourists deepened into dismay, for they
noticed we were talking more and more quickly, and idiomatically as
well.

"Hi siy!" whispered the satellite, "they're learnin' Hinglish from hus!
I'm blest hif thiy weount soon be nearly 's good 's we are!"

"Never you fear," said young Conceit. "Furriners never git the 'ang of
it."

"Never," corroborated Truculence.

But the open criticising of our appearance was at an end.

Our companions looked anything but conciliatory when a crowd of rustics
poured into the carriage at one of the stations. It was some sort of
market at Gouda; and the bommel was crammed now. Finally the guard
scurried along, and half hoisted, half pushed a peasant woman with her
three children into the compartment.

It was odd to see Truculence rise and help the little ones in; and
odder still to see the children smile up into that formidable face,
when they took their seats.

I noticed the twinkle in his eye, however, as he watched the bairnies
trying to scramble to the window. He was evidently much interested in
a bright little boy of seven with dreamy eyes, who was bent on amusing
himself; and I could see that he wanted badly to shake hands with
him and his tot of a sister, and ask them their names. He evidently
regretted his inability to speak Dutch; but he made up for his silence
by reaching the boy the window-strap, with a nod of comradeship. The
little fellow took it eagerly and, after playing with it a moment or
two, slid off his seat and actually climbed up beside Truculence (the
scorner of everything non-British) and pushing Truculence to one side,
looked out of Truculence's window.

So surprisingly passive was my severe compatriot at all this that I
hazarded a guess, and said: "You have a boy of five at home?"

He stopped short clearing the pane for his tiny companion, and sat
stock-still. It might have been a statue that was beside me so little
did he move. Not a sound in answer to my question!

Quickly I glanced at him.

Oh, I could have bitten off my tongue when I saw that man's face! It
was drawn and white, and not at all like the scornful censor's of a
few minutes before.

He continued staring out of the window a moment; then he turned and
said quietly: "I 'ad--a little fair haired fellow--a year ago.....
'E was six.... An' the born image of thet kiddie there."

Here he stroked the kiddie's head, which was now glued to the glass in
an eager endeavour to see a passing train.

"'E used to be that fond of machinery, too," he continued, opening a
city bag and bringing out a diminutive flying-machine, a "twee-dekker"
that he had evidently bought in the Hague. "I got it, 'cos it minded me
of the things my boy used to pliy with. But I've nobody to give it to.

May I as well give it to this kid. Tell 'is mother 'e's to keep it.
Tell 'er that I'm 's +hold uncle from Hingland+."

I did my best. Claas grasped the situation at once, as far as the
twee-dekker was concerned. The mother was slower. Consternation and
politeness took away her speech for an instant, but she soon recovered
and put Claas through his drill.

"Oh mijnheer, hij is zoo bij de hand!"

Then she overwhelmed us all with family reminiscences, which none of us
understood a word of, but which could not be stopped. It was a relief
to get to Gouda; and the tension of our feelings was pleasantly relaxed
by observing the profound disgust that mantled the Londoner's brow,
when after helping the children on to the platform, he was accosted by
a vendor of local dainties, who loudly insisted on selling Goudsche
Sprits to the company. "'Ere's a Johnny wants the kiddies an'all of us
to liquor up--on neat spirits--before hight o'clock in the mo'nin'!
Shime, I call it."

Claas had to say 'Good-bye' to his new uncle, and we watched proceedings
from our window. The Linguist ignored the adieu completely; but the
Satellite manfully backed up the father, and shook hands all round. A
knot of porters gathered to seize the luggage of the big Englishman,
who stood, masterful and bored, in the midst of the hubbub. His jaw and
chin were those of Rhadamanthus; but his eyes were soft as they rested
on the boyish figure descending the stairs with his baby-sister.
Claas was waving a small hand to his new uncle who had given him the
Twee-dekker; but his new uncle was not waving anything to him. So
Claas stopped short, and cried at the top of his voice: "Wuif es oom!
wui--uif es, nouw! Je moet wuife!"

"Wot's 'e up to, the young rescal?" he asked me.

"I believe he wants you to make a sign of goodbye. It's always done
here," I replied.

Well, he produced, from some place or other, a brilliant jubilee
handkerchief--he was a dressy man and had plenty of  things--and
shook it with both hands to his tiny friend. And the last I saw of him,
as the train steamed on towards Utrecht, was, his waving of this silk
banner to the little boy on the steps; the stern lips were relaxed into
a smile; the defiant face was quite wistful as he repeated: "The young
rescal!"

Here the Goudsche sprits seller, in his tour up and down the platform,
approached the burly Londoner again, and seeing him now in an
unexpectedly melting mood, at once proffered his delicacies with noisy
persistence.

"Goudsche sprits! Goudsche sprits! Sir," he bawled in the Englishman's
face, holding out a packet.

Truculence was quite glad of the interruption. He blew his nose
violently on his marvellous handkerchief, and turned upon the local
merchant with a glare of indignation.

"Get along! How dare you? D'ye take me for a drunkard?"

"Formidable customer that!" whispered Terence at my elbow. "Still I
think his bark is worse than his bite."

"Not a doubt of it," I replied. "And there are more of his kind."




CHAPTER XIII.

BELET!

WELKE MIJNHEER?--AN AANSLAGBILJET.--A MYSTERIOUS OBSTACLE.--WIJ KRIJGEN
BELET.--IS MIJNHEER GEENGAGEERD?--EEN SPOEDIGE RESTAURATIE.


We got on famously at Utrecht and at the Arnhem station. In less time
than it takes to tell it we were mounted on our cycles with our bags in
front of us, and ready for the road.

"This is fine!" exclaimed Terence. And indeed it was. Charmed by the
ease with which we had got along so safely, I felt a trifle elated over
our linguistic victories, and had already begun to dream of fresh fields
to conquer, when we drew near van Leeuwen's villa on the Velperweg--a
lovely spot.

We dismounted to make sure we were right, and then walked briskly up
the avenue.

The door was opened by a timid-looking servant, who said: "Er is
belet."

It was the first time I had met the expression; yet it sounded oddly
familiar. Ah, of course. For the last ten days I had been studying
_biljetten_ out of the railway-guide. There was apparently a slight
provincialism in her way of the rendering the liquid in the middle of
the word, but this didn't matter. +There was a ticket+, then. Puzzling,
very.

"Ja?" I said tentatively.

"Er is belet," she repeated. The intonation was decisive; but as
her manner was expectant, I took it for a question, had we tickets?
Queer, certainly. Yes; I assured her we had,--"gewone biljetten,
retour,--geldig voor een dag."

She shifted her ground and said, "_Mijnheer heeft belet._"

Now you know how hard it is to be sure what person servants are talking
about when they say Mijnheer. Did she mean me or her master? "Welke
Mijnheer?" I asked. "Ben ik mijnheer, of is Mijnheer mijnheer?"

Raising her voice she announced deliberately, but with increasing
irritation: "_Mijnheer van Leeuwen--heeft--belet._"

"Aha", I whispered to Terence, "It's my big letter she's talking about.
Well, I'm glad it came in time".

"Uitstekend!" I hastened to say. "Dat biljet is van mij. Dus mijnheer
verwacht mij, niet waar?"

She nervously closed the door a bit. "Ik heb al gezaid--vanmorgen heeft
mijnheer _expres belet gegeven_."

"Mag ik het hebben, dan", I enquired politely; "Mijn brief--dat
geschreven biljet?"

"He?" she said, visibly relieved, opening the door widely as she spoke.
"Neem mij niet kwalijk, Mijnheer. Ik wist niet dat u van de belasting
was. Komt u om het beschrijvingsbiljet?"

She retreated a step, timidly, into the hall, and glanced at an elderly
butler, who in silence had been standing at a discreet distance
listening to our colloquy. The butler moved forward, and in an
apologetic tone murmured, "Mijnheer, het beschrijvingsbiljet is nog niet
klaar. Of komt u met een aanslagbiljet?"

As I had a newspaper in my hand full of talk about a 'moordaanslag' I
repudiated the latter idea indignantly. "Geen denken aan!" I said.

The butler came out and stood on the steps, enquiring "Is U soms een
schatter."

Schatter? (Schat, a treasure; schatter, a _treasurer_. I reasoned.)
"Wel nee: geen schatter ben ik, alleen Eerlijk Secretaris van de
Studenten-Club".

In the hall a loopmeisje and a seamstress stood transfixed with
curiosity. How could I get this mad interview terminated?

The deferential butler began to grow suspicious.

"Komt U niet van de belasting?"

"Ik weet het niet," I replied.

That was enough.

"Mijnheer geeft belet altijd 's morgens," he said, adding, evidently
with reference to my eerlijk secretaris. "Wij zijn allemaal eerlijk
hier!"

We appeared to be dismissed!

"Terence," I said quickly; "Look if b-e-l-e-t is in the dictionary.
They always hark back to that."

In a minute he gave a mild shout: "It's here; it means _hindrance_. Ah,
I see. Van Leeuwen is hindered seeing us. Hadn't we better go?"

"De belet is niet erg, hoop ik?" I said to the servant; "ik hoop dat
Mijnheer spoedig beter zal worden, als het een ziekte is."

Now at last we had mastered the mysteries of belet? No such thing!

Turning to go, I thought I might as well enquire when van Leeuwen could
be seen. "Wanneer kan ik soms Mijnheer zien?" Her reply confounded me:
"Vandaag of morgen, maar U moet +belet vragen+."

Vragen! surely not ask for an obstacle. "U bedoelt +weigeren+, niet
waar?" I suggested.

"Nee: belet vragen, anders zal mijnheer u niet ontvangen."

"Oh Terence!" I exclaimed. "This is too awful! +He+ has this obstacle;
he has given it to us; now +we+ must +ask it again+. And I don't even
know what it is!"

"Take care, Jack. Don't ask anything else, or you'll get us into a
worse mess."

"One moment," I said, appealing to the stolid butler. "Moet ik
verzoeken om weggestuurd te worden? Of wat?"

"Ja Mijnheer, ik verzoek jullie maar weg te gaan. Alstublieft!"

The solemn man looked like an archbishop. He cleared his throat and
added courteously: "Maar, als U Mijnheer van Leeuwen wil spreken, moet
U belet +laten vragen+. Anders +krijgt+ U belet als U komt."

"Schei uit!" I cried in dismay. "Terence, let us fly! for my brain
won't stand it."

"No, no!" he interposed hastily. "Don't be silly or hysterical, now.
Look here. I've been working the thing out in my head and think I can
see some sense in it. Perhaps it's all very simple. Van Leeuwen may be
only occupied for the moment, and so can see us if we wait. Just ask if
they mean that he's merely engaged. He mayn't be sick at all. There's
the word for _engaged_."

And he reached me the dictionary with this thumb opposite:
_geengageerd_, _verpanden_, _verloofd_.

Yes, I thought. There was wisdom in his calm suggestion, though really
I was sick making these curious enquiries. But it seemed plain sailing
now. So with an ingratiating smile I just asked in a matter of fact
sort of way: "Mijnheer is soms geengageerd? Is het wel?"

"Verloofd?" I added taking the next word, as there was no manner of
response forthcoming to the first question.

"Verpanden?" whispered Terence with his eye on the dictionary.

The company--there were some six of them now clustering round the
butler for protection--retreated hastily into the recesses of the big
hall, and left that majestic man to shut the door. This he did without
delay, saying, somewhat nervously, "Maak dat jullie weg gaat!"

There was nothing left for us to do but to beat a dignified retreat.

I made it as dignified as possible by, expressing our best wishes for
van Leeuwen's speedy recovery.

"Komplimenten aan Mijnheer, hoor; een spoedige restauratie!"

We cycled off.




CHAPTER XIV.

THE DAY-TRAIN.

LOST IN THE WOOD.--STOPT DE TRAM OP EEN WENK?--PRAKISEERE.--MY DUTCH
BREAKS DOWN.--THE TRAIN THAT NEVER STOPS.--MET HANGENDE POOTJES--RE
INFECTA.


We had a delightful spin along the Velperweg.

Dismounting three or four times to admire choice 'bits' of scenery, we
were enticed on and on, and followed a side way that rose over a gentle
<DW72>. From the ridge of this acclivity we could watch the cloud
shadows, violet and purple, sweeping over wide moors, and by their
subtle contrasts bringing out the soft shimmering of the distant
sunlight. On the horizon we made out the river and some hill-tops
marked on our maps. Terence was confident he saw Nijmegen; but pushing
on to get a still finer view, we came to grief in crossing a heather
"brae". At least I did. The front wheel was wrenched to one side; and
we had to foot it all the way to Velp. There having left both machines
at a cycle-mender's, we started for a long tramp.

That was a grand mistake, for we went too far. There were other ranges
of wooded hills to be climbed, and the air was exhilarating. The time
passed quickly, so it was late in the afternoon before we knew. Feeling
more or less famished, we ventured on a short cut through the "Onzalige
Bosch"; but soon were hopelessly lost. It was a task to get on the main
road.

Indeed we took several wrong turnings apparently, for they seemed--it
was hard to get our proper orientation--to bring us back to the same
neighbourhood always. But at last we came to a line of wooded hills,
and discovered a cart track that led us to a real high-way. This
high-way was a magnificent affair with high over-arching trees; and on
it, to our great relief, there were tram-rails!

Help was near at hand. We put our best foot foremost, so to speak, and
hurried forward looking in the dusk for a _halte_. Perhaps we may have
passed some _halten_, but we didn't notice any; and as we were fagged
out, I was glad to come upon a group of workmen who, I imagined, could
tell me about the tram. The question I wanted to get solved was simple.
Did the tram stop merely at the official _halten_, or would the driver
pull up anywhere he got a passenger? If the bye-laws of this particular
tramway allowed the tram to stop and pick up pedestrians anywhere all
along the line, we were quite safe; we should just sit down on the
roadside and rest. We shouldn't walk another step.

The men were shovelling away at fallen leaves, so I accosted them in my
friendliest Dutch and said: "Stop de tram overal?" As this was greeted
with the customary "_blief?_" I tried to be more explicit. "Stop de tram
op een wenk of een uitroepteeken? Of stopt hij alleen op de halten?"

This puzzled them all exceedingly; and one elderly man mopped his brow
with his handkerchief and said, "Ik mot es eve prakiseere."

With that he stabbed his spade into the sod at his foot and leaned on
the top of it with both arms, his eye fixed the while on me. I didn't
care for the performance, as his stare was discomfitingly steady; but I
allowed him for a while to prakiseere undisturbed.

Indeed I couldn't even guess what he was trying to do. It looked like
an exercise in philosophic meditation or an attempt to hypnotise me on
the spot, and as he seemed in no hurry to give me the information I
desired, there was nothing for it but ask one of the other road menders.

Selecting the most intelligent looking of them. I said "Kijk es, baas;
houdt de tram op, op een wuiving van een zakdoek? Of als men teekent met
een paraplu?"

This second functionary shook his head sadly, and leaned on _his_ spade
in turn, gazing at me as if I had horns. There was a third man--close
at hand--quite a young fellow, halfway across the road where he was
standing as if petrified by my previous conversation. However he wasn't
"prakiseering," so I stepped across to him with the slowly enunciated
query: "Vertel me nou es: wat voor signaal moet ik maken, als ik wensch
op genomen te worden?"

He was the promptest of the group, for he replied glibly: "Ik weet het
niet. Je mot eve by de Politie gaan vragen." But not a word about the
tram.

I gave it up. No information could possibly be extracted from these
roadmen. My Dutch had quite broken down, and in disgust, I surrendered
the leading of the expedition wholly to Terence.

Terence has a theory that he can make his meaning clear by means of
careful and scientific gesticulation. Now he took his innings, while I
watched the proceedings from a comfortable seat by the roadside.

"They're quite clever at it," he shouted to me. "The tram will be here
in two somethings--I believe two hours--so we may as well move on: it'll
be no use to us, to wait."

"All right," I said; "your way of it!" And off we started, tired as
we were. We weren't ten minutes on the road till the tram was heard
puffing behind us; and catching sight of a kind of double line in front
of us we bounded towards this spot in hopes there might be a halte
there. There _was_: and the tram waited half an hour at it, and then
went back again the way it had come. We had to walk. Well, at all
events we reached Velp at dark. My cycle was nicely mended, so after
getting some refreshments in an excellent _logement_ and taking a
prolonged and well earned rest, we mounted our bikes and rode straight
to Arnhem.

So disgusted was I with my ill-success in Dutch that I tackled the
porters in English. An obliging +wit-jas+ asked me if I would have
the day-train. "Rather not," I told him. "There will surely be another
train to-night. It's only nine."

The first was a bommel, he said, and would do for the fietsen; but he
recommended us to wait for the day-train.

"What! And stay here all night?" I asked.

"No," he explained. "Day-trein will be here soon."

"+How is that?+" said I. "+How+ in the wide world can a +Day-train go
at night+? or is it because it started from Germany by day-light? You
surely don't reckon here by Amerikaansche tijd for the sake of the
tourists?"

"You not understand," he explained. "We call it day-trein becos' you
pay more--."

"Well!" I interrupted; "that would be a Pay-train, then! Not Day."

"No, no," he said excitedly. "Zis trein go kwik!--not stop--+anywheres+!"

"But if it doesn't stop, how can we get in?" I asked. "Of moet ik
+belet vragen+ voor deze Dag-trein? Geeft de trein belet? You'll need
a special kind of ticket, too--perhaps an aanslagsbiljet?"

"No, no; only little bewijsje--kwik trein--bring Restoration--becos'--."

"What? The Restoration! It turns day into night, and brings back
Charles II! Go on, please, I can believe anything now!"

"Hallo! is this where you are?" sounded gratefully on our ears. It
was van Leeuwen, who had been expecting us all day, after he had heard
about our call, from the indignant butler. He had given up all hope of
seeing us, but we passed him by in the dark, talking and laughing. He
had followed hot-speed to the station--in time to explain the mysteries
of the D-trein. My spirits rose. The world was still ruled by reason.
Of course we went back with our rescuer. That was the original plan,
and I had a grammar to send with him to the Hague.

As he waited, talking to Terence, I recalled the cycles. The wit-jas
demurred: "De fietsen zijn al weg."

"Neen, niet waar," I told him. "Onmogelijk, hoor! Geen trein is weg.
Daar zijn de papiertjes ervan. Pak ze: breng de fietsen mee. Ik weiger
je verontschuldigingen. Doe wat ik zeg, ik bid U. En niet terug komen
met hangende pootjes!"




CHAPTER XV.

SUPPER AT A BOERDERIJ.

IN THE SHADE OF THE PRIEELTJE.--AN UNPREPARED GUEST.--COWS'
OVERCOATS.--THANK YOU.--ANOTHER CUP.--VOOR DE PRONK.--THINGS ARE DEAR
IN HOLLAND.--AN INNOCENT OBSERVATION.--HALF-ELF.--STARVATION IN THE
MIDST OF PLENTY.--A MOHAMMEDAN.--PROBEER NOUW IS.--OPEN SESAME.--AN
AFFECTIONATE IRISH TERRIER.--GENERAL PRINCIPLES.--A PARTING SALVO.


That night, after Terence had retired, I had a confidential talk with
van Leeuwen; and I begged of him, as a great favour, to take the
Grammar to Kathleen, and--if he had time--give her a little coaching in
Dutch. He said he would--to oblige me; and I was pleased to notice that
he started, taking Boyton with him, by the earliest possible train.
This was the six twenty--a notorious bommel which brought him into the
Hague only seventeen minutes earlier than if he had waited for a decent
breakfast.

Enderby got to Arnhem about noon, and took us 'in tow' for our cycling
tour. We had a glorious week of it in Gelderland under his direction;
but there were no adventures worth speaking of. In ten days we were
back at the Residentie, as 'brown as berries and as gay as larks'. It
is Terence's phrase, and I give it for what it's worth.

But at all events van Leeuwen was gay enough now. His pedagogic labours
seemed to suit him, and Kathleen was quite herself again. To hear her
laugh now was to imagine that you were back in Kilkenny in the days
before the suffragette question was mooted.

We were all delighted. Except perhaps Enderby. That youth didn't appear
more than half pleased at the turn things had taken; but he had the
grace to keep out of the way and consoled himself with motoring. One
day--I had only sat down to luncheon--he carried me off for a great run
to the islands south of Rotterdam. But the machine broke down twice
before we reached Dordrecht, and we had to content ourselves with
housing its fragments in a shed, and walking to a _boerderij_ where my
friend was well known. Here, indeed, we were expected to supper; but we
arrived hours before we were due, and _minus_ an automobile. This
necessitated explanations, which Enderby seemed gracefully enough to
make to the family party in the garden. In a shady +prieeltje+ there,
they regaled us with "liemonade"; and I occasioned some consternation by
rising twice to offer my seat to the mother and daughter respectively,
who came in after I had sat down. They wouldn't take the chair I vacated
for them, and appeared to resent my civility. Enderby, too, made me
uncomfortable by touching my foot and saying, _sotto voce_, "Take care
what you're about, O'Neill".

Baas Willemse was very sympathetic about the mishap to our motor, and
strongly recommended the services of a gifted blacksmith of his
acquaintance.

Indeed, before we knew, he had a pony harnessed in a sort of hooded
tax-cart, in which he insisted in driving Enderby to this wonderful
mechanic, to have the damaged car put to rights. And off they started.

It was only then that I realized the situation. Here was I--without
dictionary or phrase-book--left to play the part of intelligent guest,
unaided and unprepared. And that was the first time in my life I was
'spending the evening' in a non-English-speaking home. How would I get
through it? I did hope that the local Vulcan would be quick.

At first it wasn't so bad. What with remarks about "het prachtige weer"
and "het ongeluk", and what with playing with the children, I got along
quite smoothly for a while.

I even discoursed a little about the beauty of the afternoon-sunlight
and "het schilderachtige van het zomerlandschap".

All this was taken in such good part that I went further afield; and
noticing a large number of cattle with odd coverings on their backs, I
ventured on a comparison which I fancied might interest the company.
"In Groot-Brittanje hebben de koeien niet zoo dikwijls overjassen. Mag
ik beleefd vragen: gebeurt dat hier van wege de gezelligheid, of van
wege de gezondheid, of voor het mooi?"

They were all pleased at this, and gave me a lot of talk about
cows--which didn't make me much the wiser.

By violent efforts I recalled some of my old choice phrases, and passed
myself somehow. But alas! supper came; and then my real troubles began.

We all adjourned to a binnen-kamer, where an ample spread awaited us. I
was given the seat of honour. It was a great pity, all agreed, that
Mijnheer Enderby wasn't back: but they thought I might be hungry. Well,
I was--and with reason. Nothing to eat since breakfast!

"Thee of chocolaat, Mijnheer?"

"Thee, alstublieft", I said.--And I got it.

"Krentebroodjes?"

"Dank U," I answered pleasantly, and reached for one in a leisurely
manner. You don't like to parade your hunger, you know. Well, I hadn't
been prompt enough. A plateful from which I was about to help myself,
was removed. The action surprised me, and I looked for a moment at the
mother, who had withdrawn the dainties so unexpectedly. She looked at
me, slightly ruffled. But no krentebroodjes!

"Wil mijnheer een broodje met vleesch?"

"Oh dank U wel," I said, endeavouring to be quicker. That time I nearly
had a slice. But the agile youth, Jaap, who was in charge of the plate,
whipped it away too.

No broodjes met vleesch for me! It was very queer.

"Soms een ei?" said the dignified grandmother, in a white cap with gold
ornaments. She presided, and did a great deal of the talking; and I
could make out that she was the widow of a fisherman or shipowner in a
small way, and had once visited Hull. In virtue of having spent a week
there, some forty years before, she was regarded evidently by all the
rest as an authority on English manners and customs and language and
literature.

"Soms een ei?" she pleaded. "Engelshman like egg."

Very much, indeed, I thought, if I could only get one--call me English
or Irish or whatever you like. Fain would I have had an egg off that
plate, where she had just put down six or eight, freshly boiled.

Determined to get one, if politeness would assist me, I smiled and
bowed and smiled again. "Oh, ik dank U duizendmaal. Ik bewijs volkomen
dankbaarheid."

Stunned apparently by my reply, she hesitated. To encourage her to
extend these edibles a trifle nearer, I said, "Alstublieft. Dank U."
But she only sighed, and laid the plate out of reach, reproachfully.

No eggs!

"Truitje," she whispered to her granddaughter; "presenteer de
schuimpjes."

Truitje didn't say a word, but pushed a schaaltje of these light
refreshments towards me.

I did secure two; but in a moment they were finished. You see, a
schuimpje doesn't last very long, when you are really hungry.

Then the mother complained, courteously, of my slender appetite:
"Mijnheer wil niets gebruiken."

"O ja," I interrupted, "integendeel! Heel graag. Alstublieft." And to
show I meant it, I asked for another cup of tea. "Mag ik beleefdelijk
vragen om een andere kop?" Here I reached cup and saucer towards them.

That certainly created a diversion. They looked blankly at one another,
till the grandmother--she was very hearty--called out with a cheerful
laugh, "He, ja. Dat's waar ook. De Engelsche koppen zijn groot."

"Truitje," she whispered in an audible aside. "Breng even een Engelsche
kom. Ze staan in de kast."

"Zie zoo. Mijnheer," she continued to me with a pleasant smile. "Nouw,
Mijnheer wil zeker nog wat thee hebben? Nouw, niet bedanken, hoor."

"Oh ja," I replied joyfully, "Schiet op--Als'tublieft--dank U. Dank
U--heelemaal!"

Holding the tea-pot poised in her hand, she looked at me appealingly,
but in doubt. "Wat? heus?" she said.

What was I to do?

I looked at her quite as appealingly, and replied. "Ja, heus! Wel
zeker."

That was decisive. No tea!

The cup, however, was planted down in front of me, upside down. "Het is
voor de pronk, zeker," said the grandmother. "Engelsche gewoonte--zeer
net."

But conversation flagged. The silence was painful. You could have heard
a pin drop. My discreet attempt to ask for something had failed, and I
didn't see exactly how I was to improve upon it.

The mother meantime surveyed my empty plate and empty cup with distinct
disapproval, and put out a feeler: "Mijnheer houdt niet van Hollandsche
kost?"

'Hollandsch kost', what things +cost+ in Holland--Dutch prices, in
other words? Well, they are rather high sometimes. The remark seemed
somewhat irrelevant, but it was talk, and therefore welcome. Anything
to break that oppressive silence. Eagerly embracing the opportunity of
saying something, I responded with cordiality: "Hollandsche kost? Neen.
Ik houd niet erg ervan. Dat kan U begrijpen. Ze zijn veels te hoog!"

This well-meant pleasantry was received with such evident disfavour that
I hastened to explain. "Ik bedoel dat vele artikelen zijn kostbaar--of
kostelijk--mijns bedunkens--in Holland--maar van onberispelijke smaak."

Hardly any response was made to this.--The merest murmur on the part of
the grandmother, that was all. But they all looked at me curiously,
without saying a word.

Frantically I strove to make an observation in an easy friendly way,
but all my Dutch seemed to have deserted me.--At least all I judged
suitable.

Fragments of conversation did float through my agonized brain, but none
of them was quite what I needed.

"Ik graauw, ik kef en kweel" was out of the question.

Two proverbs suddenly flashed across my mind, and I gripped them
firmly. One was: "Een vogel in de hand is meer waard dan tien in de
lucht," and the tempting parallel offered itself: "Een broodje in de
hand is meer waard dan tien op een bord." As this aphorism, however,
didn't sound extra civil, I let it pass.

"Deugd en belooning gaan zelden te samen" was the second proverb; and
on that model I managed, after due cogitation, to construct a nice
harmless phrase. As it expressed what we all knew and could see before
our eyes, I felt safe against contradiction, and I knew it couldn't
hurt anybody. This dictum ran: "Koek en boterham gaan dikwijls te
samen."

Perhaps it was owing to the suddenness with which I proclaimed this
truth, or to some severity in my manner; but the effect produced on the
company was magical.

Jaap dropped his fork with a clatter and said, "Gunst!" The mother put
her hand to her chest, whispering. "Zoo'n schrik!" All looked startled
and stopped eating!

To divert the scrutiny of so many eyes, I manufactured talk on the
first thing that occurred to me, and, reverting to the Dutch prices,
said: "Sommige artikelen in Holland zijn duur. Van morgen heb ik een
plaat bezichtigd--een poes opgerold over een kannetje melk--de zee in
de verte. Prachtig. Maar peper-duur. Tien gulden en een half."

"Wat zegt mijnheer," asked the grandmother, "van de poes en de peper en
de tien gulden?"

Assuring her it was merely a 'plaat', but one that was 'erg kostbaar',
I grasped at the analogy of the hours of the day, to do full justice
to the expensiveness of the picture. If ten o'clock and a half works out
at "half-elf-uur," it is not hard to reckon what ten guilders-and-a-half
_ought_ to be; so I gave it with relish: "En, Juffrouw, wat denkt U?
Het kost half-elf-gulden!"

Jaap looked at his watch and shook his head. Then he shook the watch,
put it back in his pocket and fastened his eyes again on me.

"Nee, hoor!" exclaimed the mother, who had now begun to help a special
dish; "Nee; zoo laat is het niet. Mijnheer O'Neill, neem een stukje
pudding--toe dan--heel verteerbaar."

My plate was passed along, and was heaped up liberally. Though I waited
with my thanks as long as I could, I was obliged to intervene when the
plate was piled high enough for any two people. "Nouw, ik bedank!" I
ejaculated, making my best bow.

But that caused the guillotine to fall once more. With a gesture of
impatience Truitje put away my verteerbaar pudding on a remote
side-table. Not the least chance of getting it!

I was starving in the midst of plenty!

As my hosts appeared to be as much impressed with the contrast as I
was, I endeavoured to smooth things over a little, and set them more at
their ease. Making the best of it, with all the careless grace I could
muster I blandly assured them that it didn't matter. "Het geeft
niets--het hindert niet--het komt er niet opaan."

But they grew huffy and distant--my phrases didn't do much to relieve
the strain--and I was feeling more depressed and famished every minute,
when, to my unspeakable relief, up there came the sound of wheels on
the gravel, and in a moment I heard Enderby's voice talking Dutch
loudly and confidently in the hall.

The young folks all rushed out to meet him (he is a prime favourite
with them) and there was much whispering and laughing and a long
confabulation before they came back.

Enderby entered, and greeted the older people merrily: but there was a
quizzical frown upon his brow as he sat down near me. "What's all this
O'Neill?" he whispered. "Are you ill?"

"I'm as well as could be expected in the circumstances."

"Circumstances! Why you wouldn't touch the good food they gave you. Not
content with despising their cookery you objected to their tea-cups,
and pretend that religious scruples keep you from eating until after
half-past ten. They think you are some kind of Mohammedan. These kind
people are a little hurt, I fear; and I can see they are greatly
astonished."

"So am I! I have been as polite as anything, all the time; but though
they offer me plenty of everything, if I attempt to help myself,
whew!--they whisk the dish away. They may be hurt, as you say; but I
can tell you, _I'm starving_. Is there no way to--."

Our conversation was interrupted by the mother's voice, which broke in
with the cheery question: "Mijnheer Enderby houdt +wel+ van Hollandsche
kost, niet waar?"

I watched what he would say.

He used two easy words: "Dat spreekt."

Busying herself with plates and spoons, the mother continued: "U neemt
een beetje avondeten?"

"Nouw! Of ik!" said Enderby with enthusiasm--and they brought him
eatables all sorts.

These dainties caught my eye in spite of myself; and I wondered why
none had been given to me. It was now going on to ten; and I had had
nothing since early breakfast, except a glass of lemonade, a cup of
tea and two small schuimpjes.

The old lady was observant, and must have detected famine in my eye,
for with a glance at the clock she called softly to Truitje: "Probeer
nouw is."

To me she said, "Wil Mijnheer nog thee?"

The secret was mine now, and I didn't hesitate.

"Of ik!" I replied.

There was a scream of delight from all quarters! My kom was turned
right-side up and filled to the brim with fresh warm tea. I was the
centre of interest at once. Cupboards flew open on all sides, like
pistol-shots, and everybody was waiting to help me. It was who would
give me most.

"Ham en een broodje?"

"Of ik!"

"Rookvleesch--en een ei?"

"Of ik!"

The seven lean years were past, now the time of plenty was come.

"Bitterkoekjes en leverworst?"--"Muisjes en karnemelk?"--"Appelbolletjes,
wentelteefjes en molsla?"--I refused nothing.

"Of ik" was the "Open Sesame"--the key to unlock all cupboards and all
hearts.

I took care to thank nobody for anything, for fear my plate would be
removed. Happy laughter was heard on all sides. Smiles beamed on every
face. In an instant I had become the most popular man on the island,--at
all events with the people in that farm-house. Their hospitality and my
hunger had met at last, and come to terms--to the unbounded enthusiasm
of all.

Meantime Enderby had communicated to them the fact that I was an
Irishman; and I overheard someone venture on the singular criticism:
"De Ieren zijn zoo lief voor elkaar! Hij gebruikt niets als zijn vriend
er niet bij is."

"He, wat lief!" said Baas Willemse.

"Innig!" whispered the grandmother, smiling.

"Leuk", answered the mother.

"Aardig", said some one else.

"Typisch", exclaimed Truitje.

A grumble fell on our ears: "Wat gek!"

It was Jaap.

Truitje talked on one side of Enderby; Jaap talked on the other.
Enderby smiled, then sniggered, then laughed; and finally, laying down
his knife and fork, he looked at me, and leaned back in his chair and
positively roared.

"Well, what's the matter?" I asked austerely.

"She says it's touching to see your affection for me. You looked so
melancholy when I was away, as if you were longing for something--or
crossed in love--or disappointed! You've won their hearts, at last,
my boy, not a doubt of it. Still, don't overdo that phrase, now that
you've got it. Jaap here has a story about an Irish terrier in Drenthe
that refused to eat anything for three days, when its master was away
in Amsterdam. But he adds that the terrier made up for it, by eating
everything it could, when its master came back. I can see that you are
going to achieve a reputation that will outrival that of your canine
compatriot, unless you have a care. Be a bit cautious, please."

Here Jaap, dimly apprehending that Enderby was speaking about him,
performed a mystic rite that puzzled me extremely.

Pretending to sharpen an imaginary pencil on his forefinger he held it
towards us and cried, "Sliep uit."

"What on earth is that?" I asked Enderby--who, however, could only
tell me that it was intended as a roguish taunt--Jaap was always a
schelm--but the phrase was otherwise meaningless.

As such I jotted it down at once in my notebook for future use.

From these experiences in the boerderij I was able to deduce an
important general principle of practical value.

+If you want anything in Holland never say "thank you", until the
object is firmly in your grasp.+ Then you may be as civil as you like.
But before you get hold of it, you are only safe if you say, "If I".

+In the Dutch language premature thanks are equivalent to a refusal;
so you'd better keep your gratitude out of sight.+

Well, I had won all hearts here in virtue of my discoveries. As we were
going away the grandmother gave me a second Good-bye, shaking me warmly
by both hands. "Heeft mijnheer zich goed geamuseerd?" she enquired.

"Kostelijk--Uitstekend--Nouw!" was my prompt reply, for I had expected
that query.

"Wat spreekt mijnheer nouw makkelijk Hollandsch!" she exclaimed.

"Gunst, ja", was my retort. "Ik heb zoo'n pret gehad! Onbetaalbaar!"

But I caught Jaap's eye; it was critical; so to pay back the youth for
his terrier-story I took out my pencil, sharpened it in full view of
them all and said, "Sliep uit, Jaap; je bent een schelm".

With that they all cheered, young and old, saying "Net, Mijnheer, net!"

"Tot weerziens!" laughed the grandmother shaking hands again. "Kom
spoedig terug".

"Ja hoor; dat spreekt."

"Belooft u?" she repeated, before she let me go.

I pulled myself together, and gave a parting salvo: "Ja,
zeker--Stellig--Och kom!--Reken er op!--Of ik!!"

We drove away in a perfect tornado of applause.




EPILOGUE.

THE EXPECTED SURPRISE.


On reaching my rooms at Ferdinand Bolstraat 66_a_, the landlady greeted
me with respectful effusion and told me that Jan was as good as cured,
though the wounded arm would remain stiff for a good while, she
feared. She was loud in the praises of the Engelsche juffrouw and her
profisciency in Dutch; and (sinking her voice confidentially) Mijnheer
van Leeuwen had left a letter for me upstairs.

"Boyton", I thought, as I climbed those forty nine precipitous steps
that led to my room, "I hope you have done your duty."

And he had.

Van Leeuwen wrote that he would prepare me for a great surprise! It
was yet a profound secret; but,--well, in fact--that is to say--he was
engaged to my cousin Kathleen. They had discovered mutual sympathies
and affinities over the study of Dutch--to which language now my cousin
was devoting her serious attention. By the by they had been delighted
with that monograph of mine. And the queer Grammar was useful. (I
should think so!)

He said that he could well imagine my astonished looks when I got this
news about his attachment! Now confess, he concluded, that you hadn't
the ghost of a suspicion as to what was coming?

"Oh hadn't I just?" I soliloquized, "Well; there's only one thing, my
dear fellow, to say to all that; And I really must say it in Dutch:
+Of ik+?"




Opmerkingen van de bewerker


In deze tekst komen vier soorten van nadruk voor, soms tegelijkertijd.
Voor deze txt-versie zijn ze weergeven met _cursief_, =vet=,
+gespatieerd+ en HOOFDLETTERS.

Ook in de txt-versie zijn de kopteksten van bovenaan de bladzijden
verplaatst naar het begin van de hoofdstukken.

Voor het gemak van de lezer is de inhoudsopgave verplaatst van het eind
van het boek naar het begin.

In de tabel met uitspraakregels op pag. 16 werd in het origineel E U
twee keer genoemd. De tweede is veranderd in E I.

Duidelijke drukfouten zijn stilzwijgend verbeterd. Alle andere
eigenaardigheden en inconsequenties in spelling en grammatica zijn
niet gewijzigd, in het bijzonder die in de zogenaamde citaten uit
"Boyton and Brandnetel". Ook de stijl van de auteur in het gebruik van
aanhalingstekens is niet gewijzigd.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Further Adventures of O'Neill in
Holland, by J. Irwin Brown

*** 