[CHAPTER IV.]
THE PURCHASE OF THE PENS.
“And what”, said I, “might be the particular difficulty of saying pens in Dutch? You had a dictionary?”
“Dictionary indeed!” retorted O’Neill with some heat. “Commend me to a dictionary for leading you astray.”
THE VALUE OF DIMINUTIVES.
There was a penholder in the room, so what I needed was only nibs. Having already with much pain made my selection among the have you’s, I now looked up nib in the dictionary. Nib was represented by five words, three of which seemed likely enough to be right, i. e. neb, punt, and snavel. Accordingly I wrote these down and worked out their plurals and diminutives. The doubtful ones I kept in reserve. Why did I fancy diminutives? Oh, the grammar put me on the way of finding them, and I got quite partial to their use. It is such a comfort, you know, they are all neuter. You can put het in front of one, and then it’s safe for nominative or accusative, wherever it drops in the sentence.
Thus armed for the fray, and confiding in my grammar and dictionary, I sallied forth to buy those nibs.
There was no use in going to a large shop, for experience had taught me I should at once be accosted there in English; so I wandered about till I discovered a kind of small general warehouse in an obscure street. Making sure, by a careful inspection from without, that pens were among the commodities sold in this place, I muttered a polite phrase or two below my breath, cleared my throat, and entered boldly. There was a big good-natured man reading behind the counter. No one else was in the shop. The circumstances simply couldn’t be more propitious for beginning the difficult art of Dutch conversation.
“Mynheer!” said the big man, putting down the newspaper and looking at me amiably over his spectacles.