CHAPTER II

A GREENHORN

Twelve months passed after this--uneventfully, so far as Steve’s private life was concerned. But at this time he had an attack of malarial fever, which left him weak and pale. He decided to take a week’s holiday, and spend it at the farm of an old farmer who had often asked him to pay him a visit.

After a couple of days’ stay at this farm, he found his health and strength coming back to him. On the third day of his stay, he went for a walk, accompanied by Fritz, the son of his host, and a Hollander who had only just arrived the day before to take up the position of tutor in the family of the old farmer.

Fritz was a merry, mischievous young fellow of eighteen; and as he was considered old enough to assist his father in looking after the farm, he was not a pupil of the new teacher, and therefore considered himself at liberty to make as much fun of the _green_ Hollander as opportunity offered. During the walk above mentioned, Fritz had taken the opportunity to begin _Mijnheer van der Tromp’s education_, as he termed it.

‘How is he going to educate the children while _his_ education is being neglected?’ was his question, in answer to his father’s remonstrances.

He began the Hollander’s education by marching him through the orchard, in Steve’s company, and giving him the names of the different kinds of fruit and vegetables--all wrong, of course.

‘Do you see this tree, mijnheer? It is the sweet potato tree,’--it was a peach.

‘Oh, you don’t say so! Do sweet potatoes grow on such a tall tree? I should like to taste some of them when they are ripe.’

‘And this is a pine apple tree,’ remarked Fritz, pointing out a fine banana bush.

‘How wonderful Nature is,’ soliloquised the poor city bred Hollander. ‘Everything in Nature has its peculiar wonders, and is made by God with its own peculiar habits.’

‘And this tree, teacher, which you see is full of beautiful yellow ripe fruit, is our South African fig?’ continued Fritz, now drawing the attention of the teacher to a fine specimen of the prickly pear. (Turkish _fig_ is the Dutch name for it literally translated.)

‘What, are these figs? and are they fit for eating now?’ asked Mijnheer van der Tromp.

‘Oh, yes, teacher, and I can assure you they are delicious eating too,’ replied Fritz, turning away and walking on. Of course Fritz knew what was going to happen. Steve had walked on a few paces, as he was afraid he would be unable to contain his laughter if he listened any longer to Fritz’s fooling; so the poor Hollander was perfectly at the mercy of Fritz, as Steve did not overhear the information just given about the prickly pear.

The first intimation Steve had of what was going on was when he heard suppressed laughter behind him. He looked round, and at what he saw he thought that both his companions must have taken leave of their senses. Fritz was red in the face from laughing, as he lay on the grass, throwing his hands and feet about in the air like the four arms of a windmill. He seemed to be absolutely mad.

As to the poor Hollander, his actions were almost indescribable. He was standing, holding his arms out full length, fingers extended, while his head was held out forward, with his capacious mouth open to its full extent, and an expression of agony was depicted upon his countenance, while he was uttering such inarticulate sounds as a man could utter while holding his mouth open without moving tongue or lips. What had happened was this. The Hollander, as soon as Fritz’s back was turned, had seized one of the most tempting looking prickly pears, and had taken a hasty bite out of it. The result was that the inside of his mouth was covered with hundreds of the minute needle-pointed thorns. Only those who have felt the irritating pain of a prickly pear thorn in the mouth can understand the torture poor Van der Tromp had to endure. Steve led him home, where he was seated on a low stool for hours following, while the members of the family took turns to hunt the thorns out of his mouth.

But prickly pear thorns are not picked out of a man’s mouth in one day, especially after they have been planted there in such a wholesale manner, as was the case with Van der Tromp. For days after those thorns _would_ intrude themselves upon the attention of the teacher. Every time he would make sure that not a single thorn was left in his mouth. But suddenly, every half hour or so, while Van der Tromp was eating, singing, or speaking, an expression of agony would pass over his countenance as another of those little demon thorns would make itself felt. And then every other occupation would be suspended while that little thorn was being hunted for.

Of course, Fritz did not think, or expect, his little joke to turn out such a serious matter for the poor teacher. The most he hoped for was that the teacher would pluck the prickly pear, and thus feel the thorns. He never thought that Van der Tromp would _bite_ the fruit. When he saw the agony of Van der Tromp, he was genuinely sorry, and apologised most humbly, but I am afraid he was never forgiven.