Though there was an interval of a second or two whilst I was getting behind my barricade he was too astonished to utter a sound, either in Dutch or in English. I perceived my advantage and intended to keep it.
“Mag ik u iets aanbieden?” I said with a wave of the hand, throwing in some nonsense out the grammar.
“Wat gebruikt U?—ah—hm—Een—voorzetsel, bijvoorbeeld?—of—de gebiedende wijs—of—een bijvoeglijk naamwoord? Wat—niets?”
As he still said nothing, I pointed him to my cupboards, by happy inspiration remembering the refrain of the vendor of eatables at one of the stations, “Bierr, limonade, spuitwater?” adding—“Bitterkoekjes en ijskoud bier; of—een amandel broodje?”
IK BID U WELKOM.
It was well he didn’t accept, for I had none of these dainties in the house; but it sounded friendly to offer them.
“Of,” I put in, sinking my voice to a confidential whisper, “Spreekt U liever over de Nieuwe Electrische Tramweg? Wel, dan.—Het publiek wordt gewaarschuwd het personeel niet in gesprek te houden.”
Very faintly came the reply, as he moved restlessly on the edge of his chair, “Mynheer, ik kwam niet om de Tramweg.”
“Neen?” I said. “Goed. Best. Ik neem het ook niet kwalijk, mijnheer! ik bid U welkom!—Het doet mij genoegen, na al het ongunstige weer van verleden week, U zoo goed en wel te zien.”