“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!”
A HAPPY ESCAPE.
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.
VAARWEL.
“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.