A suit which one of these is willing to dispose of must indeed be a peculiar object. I wonder if it has that “ancient and fish-like smell,” described by Shakespeare. The fates forbid! Perhaps it is a relic of a beloved father or grandfather, handed down as a family heirloom. We enter the house, still surrounded by curious spectators, and our obliging friend takes from a closet a carefully-wrapped bundle, which upon being opened discloses a worn and aged suit: unfortunately its age does not add to its beauty or value as in the cases of old masterpieces in art, as a painting by Murillo or Rembrandt. The clothes are old, dirty, and faded, and only fit for the receptacle of the ragman, but they do not fail to serve their purpose, for while this young athlete holds them out, with an expression of pride and pleasure, a sudden thought fills me with hope. The suit which this young man wears is of the highest type of the Volendam fashion, and is quite new. The flannel blouse with its gay undervest showing at the chest, and the baggy brown velveteen trousers form an ideal specimen of the costume of these people. I must have this suit. No other will answer my purpose. Without preliminaries, I boldly propose to him to sell me the suit he wears, and put on the old one until he can procure another. His countenance falls, and with a look of positive fear, he draws back, shaking his head and repeating: “Nee. Nee. Nee.”
Then he moves farther away, as though in terror lest I then and there strip him of his garments. He cannot sell the suit, he says, especially as the wedding festivities of one of his neighbors are so soon to take place. In a corner of the room, quietly smoking a clay pipe, sits the old father, watching without a word the little drama taking place before him. As the boy reiterates his refusal, the man talks to him in expostulatory tones, and as we learn, says: “The gentleman from America is a good man. Let him have the suit: you shall have another.” At this advice the son, though looking rather sulky, yields, and withdrawing to the adjoining room, exchanges the suit he wears for the old one, and returns with the desire of my heart rolled up and wrapped in a clean paper. The evidence of good will on the part of the parent, and the obedience of the son charm me even more than the possession of the coveted garments. The boy is a noble lad. As we are about leaving, I suddenly espy the silver coin buttons which are such an ornament to the dress, and which are considered a mark of distinction, when worn by old or young. They are rare and valuable decorations, being buttons made of coins, and held together by a link, as our sleeve-buttons. They are worn in the bands of the trousers and shirts, serving the purpose of suspenders.
The coins are brilliantly polished and present a striking appearance. They are generally heirlooms, and some of them are of very ancient date.
In general they are cherished as treasures beyond price: these worn by the boy are exceedingly rare, and are more than a hundred years old, having belonged to his great-grandfather. The outer and larger coins are three guilder pieces, the smaller ones one guilder.
To ask for these is indeed the “last straw,” and when the father requests his son to put them in the bundle with the clothing, he bursts into tears, and his hands tremble as he gives them to me.
For this final test of obedience I thank him heartily, and bestow upon him a liberal reward for the sacrifice, together with much praise. As he looks at the guilders with which I have filled his hand, his countenance brightens, and the rainfall is changed into radiant sunshine. The neighbors look on this scene with surprise, and many of them declare that this is a very uncommon occurrence in Volendam, as they have never known any one heretofore to dispose of family heirlooms to a foreigner. It is unnecessary to say that I also value the coins beyond price, and treasure them for their association, and the interesting picture which they never fail to bring before me.
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