CHAPTER VIII.

OUT FOR A WALK.

NAAR HET EINDE.--A ONE-SIDED CONVERSATION.--KOLOSSAAL MOOI.--THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR.--TAKE CARE OF YOUR WORDS.--A CHARMING WALK.--NAAST DE PALING.--LIEMOEN-MOES.--A MYSTERIOUS BEVERAGE.--MELOEN MET APPELMOES.--DRIVE ME TO THE HAGUE.--A DREADFUL INTERVIEW.--THE IRATE INN-KEEPER.--A HAPPY ESCAPE.--VAARWEL.

Starting one morning for a long ramble in the country I took the first stage by tram. It was very early, and as there were no other passengers, the conductor was disposed to be communicative. He was absolutely eager to talk, and he came up to me at once.

Now I have noticed that at one time it is much easier to express oneself in a foreign language than at another.

Sometimes the grammar you have mastered becomes positively oppressive, and your tongue refuses to lend itself to the task.

I cannot tell whether it may be due to barometric pressure or to some electrical condition, but on certain days I cannot--to put it mildly--come up to my normal standard, either of perspicuity or ease.

This was one of my bad days, and I was little inclined to respond to the conductor's advances. Fate was against me, however, for I didn't know the name of the place I was bound for. Enderby had several times taken me to a pretty village some few miles from the Hague. It was the terminus of the tram-line, and I purposed to tram there first and then to start out on my country walk.

I had never troubled much about the geography of the district, and consequently was quite in the dark now as to what the village was called. This was awkward, for the talkative conductor was already at hand trying to open conversation.

He made a first essay by producing his bunch of tickets and asking me, "Hoe ver, mijnheer?"

I waved my hand and said, "Den geheelen weg." Seeing he was not satisfied with this, I amplified the remark by adding "Naar het einde."

As he was still slightly bewildered, I glanced up to the tram-car itself to ascertain, if possible, its destination. The designation of the village would surely be printed somewhere on the vehicle. Happily I could just make out at the end of a long series of hard words the name 'Simplex'. Pointing to this with a careless flourish of my stick I said "Ja; ik ga even naar Simplex."

"Net, mijnheer," he laughed, "ha! ha!, overal reclame!"

Before he had recovered from my unconscious wit, I perceived the error into which I had fallen. Simplex was merely a cycle-advertisement.

Then I laughed as heartily as he, saying "Gunst ja; overal"--which emboldened him to be still more familiar.

He fancied that I was a perfect master of Dutch, and could even joke in it. He talked most volubly; and,--my reputation as a linguist being now at stake,--whenever he made a slight pause I was obliged to say something to show I understood.

I didn't understand. But I started him off always when he was inclined to stop, and I kept him going by a careful use of 'ja' and 'neen'. If he appeared to expect agreement, I threw in a hearty 'natuurlijk', 'ja zeker', or 'wel van mijn leven.' At other points, and for variety's sake, I interjected indignant negatives: 'Wel nee!' 'schei er uit!' 'Hoe heb ik het met je?'--and now and then even 'och kom!' with the peculiar shake of the head that accompanies this phrase.

The plan was brilliantly successful. True, he stopped sometimes and took a long queer look at me; but he was one of those garrulous people that require little encouragement, and the flood of his reminiscences always poured forth again as freely as ever.

We got along famously together--though I didn't know one word he said--till we came opposite a tall church. Nodding patronisingly towards this building he said, "Pracht van een Kerk", adding something about a 'hooge toren'.

Here I felt on solid ground,--I understood him thoroughly. My natural wish to take an intelligent part in the conversation would be gratified if only I could say something about that edifice; and, one of the fresh idioms that I had recently acquired occurring to me, I promptly gave it to him by way of reply: "Ja, prachtig; het is kolossaal mooi."

This choice idiom I had got just the day before from a policeman. We had been standing in front of a florist's window--the policeman and I--admiring the tiny vases of lilies of the valley that were displayed there, when I heard him murmur half to himself and half to me "kolossaal mooi!" The combination so captivated my fancy that I added it without delay to my working stock.

The tram-conductor emphatically agreed with my criticism. "Kolossaal!" he repeated.

Thus encouraged I attempted to contribute something further to the conversation, and catching sight of a lofty lightning-conductor, on the church-steeple, I tried to draw his attention to it by an easy grammatical remark.

The word 'lightning-conductor' did not seem to present difficulties.

'Lightning' of course I remembered, though I ought to have forgotten it long ago. No doubt it was to be approached with caution; but as this was a matter of pure science I felt tolerably safe. As for 'conductor', there could be little doubt as as to the way to render that, for 'conducteur' was stamped on the tram-man's buttons, and had been staring me in the face for the last half-hour. Those buttons were as good as a dictionary.

Putting together then the component parts of 'lightning-conductor,' I hazarded a bold guess, and waving my hand towards the steeple I said cordially, "Ja, de toren is mooi--kolossaal mooi. Gunst; ja.--Zoo is ook die bliksem-conducteur! Vind U niet?"

Well, he stopped as if I had struck him; his face got fiery red, and he walked away without a word!

What had I done? There was no denying something had gone wrong. Evidently the man was choking with rage, and he didn't as much as glance at me for the rest of the journey.

That same afternoon I reported the affair to Enderby, who grew quite gruff and crusty before I had finished the narration.

"Didn't I warn you", he grumbled, "against those horrid expressions that you seem so fond of? You must really take care, O'Neill,--or I won't speak to you as long as you stay in Holland."

It was useless to assure him that I had referred to the 'lightning-conductor' merely in its permissible and scientific sense. He would listen to no explanations. "You simply can't imagine how shocking all that talk of yours sounds, or you wouldn't attempt to justify your vulgarity."

"Begging your lordship's pardon", I retorted ironically, "for all my unseemly conduct, may I enquire humbly what the dignified term is? _Onweersconducteur_, perhaps? Or _weerlichtsconducteur_?"

"Nonsense!" he almost shouted. "The thing's quite easy--'_bliksemafleider_'."

"Aha," I could not help retorting, "you see after all you are in the wrong. You warned me against _lightning_--quite needlessly, you now admit--but you never said a syllable about that really dangerous word _conductor_."

But to return to my trip that lovely morning. The tram duly reached 'Simplex', and the conductor was unfeignedly relieved to see me alight.

It was perfect weather, and my annoyances were soon forgotten. There was such a shimmer and haze and play of light over the wide landscape as I have seen only in Holland.

I was delighted. Such a scene is an inspiration. It makes one wish to be a painter or a poet or something. Subtle and delicate shades varied the long stretches of green meadow; clumps of trees, church towers, tiny red-roofed villages dotted the landscape; while here and there as far as the eye could reach, wide canals--the very pictures of tranquillity--reflected the great white clouds sailing overhead.

"Splendid, splendid!" I exclaimed to myself. And charming indeed did my ramble prove to be.

But the day was hot, and I was glad at last about eleven o'clock to come to a good-sized tea-garden over the entrance to which stood in conspicuous letters, "_Uitspanning_." Here was cool shade under broad trees; and here were innumerable little tables at which a number of people were seated, laughing and chattering and lunching pleasantly, while little children, some of them not more than three years old, kept running about and playing games. And all these tiny tots, too, were talking Dutch, happily and unconcerned, tossing about in childish glee and with incredible ease, onbepaalde wijzen, verleden deelwoorden and voorzetsels, not to speak of het and hen and hun and je.

On entering this popular resort and looking round I was addressed by a breathless waiter laden with plates. "Waar wou mynheer zitten?"

The shade was deepest under a noble elm, where at this instant I spied an unoccupied seat close to the wooden paling that skirted the enclosure. I didn't know what 'paling' was, but I chanced it, as there was no time for the dictionary. "Naast de paling," I said, "als 't U blieft."

The impatient waiter nearly dropped his tray, but recovering himself he vanished, and I took the seat myself. Another kellner appeared,--a slow grave man in whose district was situated the attractive nook I had been fortunate enough to secure. The day was broiling hot, as I told you, and I thought I couldn't do better than begin with a little lemon-squash.

I could have wished to study up my part a little; but as the slow dignitary was already waiting, I asked for a "limoen en een glas water." Having greeted my remark twice with "blief?" he drew himself up and enquired if I wanted 'liemonade.'

"Geen kwestie van," I said, hauling out of my pocket the little fat dictionary, that faithful companion of my wanderings. "Wacht even!" I hurriedly turned up "squash"; for on the analogy of meloen I assumed that 'lemoen' was all right for lemon. The verb squash was _moezen_; the noun _moes_. This latter I chose, preferring the beverage ready-made, if possible.

"Ja, kellner"--I said, "nu weet ik het al. Breng mij limoenmoes."

He raised his eyebrows and said: "Bedoelt mijnheer soms appelmoes?"

Apple squash? That seemed rather a good idea. It sounded like cider or apple-lemonade.

"Ja, best," I said; "breng mij een glas appelmoes, maar niet te sterk."

When he was gone to draw some of this mysterious beverage, who should turn up but Enderby? He had been motoring; and was coming back from Amsterdam when some pinion had given way, and he had to stop at the Uitspanning for repairs. He came up to me and sat down saying: "Well, O'Neill, you're a long way from home; how did you get here? What are you taking this hot weather?"

"Indeed," said I, "I don't exactly know. It's apple-squash, or rather a sort of apple lemonade,--cider, I believe."

"Ah," said he with surprise, "you talked English, I suppose?"

"Not at all,--not a word. I never speak English now. It was all Dutch."

"Then I tell you, you _have_ made progress with the language! For here have I been in Holland for fifteen years, and I never even heard of apple lemonade yet. To tell you the truth, I should not know how to ask for it. My boy, I congratulate you on your linguistic enterprise!"

The waiter reappeared just then, and Enderby interposed, "Mynheer heeft iets besteld, nietwaar? Wat is dat voor een drankje? Geen limonade?"

"Nee, menheer", said the waiter in a complaining tone, "volstrekt niet, mynheer is wat vreemd, ziet u; want," and here his voice sank to a horrified whisper, "menheer eet meloen met appelmoes!"

Enderby looked at me in speechless astonishment; while the waiter murmured, perhaps as a further suggestion of guilt on my part: "We hebbe geen paling!"

Matters had got so involved that I could not explain anything to him; except to say that I had started with the intention of cooling my thirst with lemon squash.

He was inclined to be huffy once more. "There you are at it again! Look here now; do take some care about what you say. I'll get that drink for you this time; and, for any sake if you want 'kwast' again, don't say appelmoes. Indeed I strongly advise you to stick to English, or you will get into worse trouble yet."

Enderby went off in high dudgeon, and I took a long ramble under the trees. It was not long till I shook off the effects of my grammatical skirmishes and began to enjoy the day to the full.

In point of fact I made several sketches, and returning in a couple of hours had luncheon successfully. That was comparatively easy. I had merely to say, "Koffie!--Kaas!"--and the meal was ready.

Being by this time a trifle tired, I conceived the idea of driving back to the Hague, for it seemed too far to walk. In this design I was encouraged by the presence of a considerable number of vehicles with horses, standing about.

On examining my dictionary to get the Dutch idiom for 'drive home' I discovered three curious translations for drive: 'rijden', 'drijven' (used, I was informed, of ice) and 'jagen.'

Now seeing that 'rijden', meant 'to ride', and 'jagen,' to 'hunt,' and the other word was restricted to icebergs, there really appeared to be a lack of the precise term I needed.

Obliged thus to circumscribe my meaning, I rapped on my green table and enquired, "Kellner, kan ik een paard hebben?"

The waiter mumbled inarticulately, coughed apologetically, and vanished like a shadow.

Presently he came back with a red-faced man who seemed to be the proprietor of the Uitspanning. What I wanted to say was, "Have you a horse disengaged to drive me to the Hague!" but owing to the defective character of the Dutch vocabulary this could not be said directly, and I was obliged to go round the point.

I went round it thus: "Mag ik beleefd vragen, Mynheer, heeft U paarden beschikbaar om my te dragen?"

This sounded diplomatic and neat, and was certainly clear; but the apoplectic proprietor looked askance.

He paused and endeavoured to transfix me with his beady eyes and read my inmost consciousness. This being impossible, he condescended to the gruff question: "Wou meneer een peerd koope?"

"Koopen?" I replied in astonishment, "oh niet koopen! Gunst! ashjeblieft niet."

"Raie dan?" was his brusque reply.

"Rijen, graag," I agreed; "gaarne rijden; maar--ik ben niet in staat het paard terug te zenden. En ... en ik heb geen ruimte in mijn kamers voor een paard."

"Wat dan?" said he rudely, with a kind of a dull glare in his black eyes.

I was getting into deep water--there was no use blinking the fact--and here was this dreadful man growing more enraged and suspicious every moment. Perhaps after all I could make something of those three doubtful dictionary words. "Kan u niet," I asked with some asperity, "kan oe niet, mijnheer, mij laten jagen naar den Haag?"

"O, hé!" exclaimed my interlocutor with a sudden access of interest and a kind of wrinkle distantly resembling a smile. "Gaat mijnheer op de jacht?"

Dear me, this is _too_ bad, I thought, for I saw people watching me with a curious air of disapproval, and a good many more approaching. Really I regretted I had not walked to the Hague.

But I was in for it now, and with all the sternness I could command I explained sententiously, "Ik wensch een paard!--Om mij te trekken--in een rijtuig--naar den Haag, Ferdinand Bolstraat 66a."

My horsey friend took a step nearer, his face ominously darkening and the fierce eyes flashing fire. "Wat wou menheer eigenlijk? rijtuig huren? of pérd koope!--of raie naar de stad?--of op de jacht gaan?--of onzin praote?"

I was at my wit's end and deemed it wise to retire as soon as possible from the conversation. This I tried to do by means of that agreeable little triplet that had hitherto proved so useful to me.

"Och kom!" I said with a pleasant smile, "'t Geeft niets; het hindert niet; het komt er niet op aan."

He was unappeased, however. So by way of friendly deprecation I added: "Laa maar! Schei er uit.--Hè! zanik nou niet!"

This did not appreciably mend matters, I assure you.--At every sentence I uttered his face grew more purple--and I was intensely relieved when at that moment one of the interested bye-standers ran up hurriedly, whip in hand, and touching his cap exclaimed: "Drive you to the Hague, Sir?"--It was a cabdriver who spoke English!

Oh! I could have embraced that man!

"Yes," said I with effusion, "Yes, at once, please!--as quick as ever you can!"

I jumped up on his vehicle and, as the vendor of peerden was still hovering unpleasantly near, I ventured on one of those despised French verbs--it was the only thing I could think of--to construct an effective phrase for my exit.

"Mynheer Uitspanning!" I said waving him adieu, "ik zal U niet verder derangeeren!--Vaarwel!"

Good-bye at last! There was a faint cheer from the score or two of spectators, but no response from my late tormentor.

What a relief to get away from the intricacies of that dreadful cross-examination!

I was flurried and worn, and did not quite recover my equanimity or feel properly cooled down till I was safely ensconced in my rooms in Ferdinand Bolstraat 66a.