“Go on”, said the Professor, “now you’re started”.
JA AND NEEN.
“You soon left your hotel for lodgings?” I added enquiringly.
“Well, you see,” he resumed, “I was afraid I’d never pick up the language. There is no chance of practice unless you get away from everybody that speaks English. That was not too easy, I tell you. But Enderby helped me, and we searched about the Hague for two whole days. At last we found perfectly charming rooms opposite a canal; the landlady didn’t know a word of English. She knew Dutch, though, all right. Fluent, did you say? I should think she was. A perfect marvel. No need of the dictionary, you know.—Verbs all in their proper places—and plenty of them!
WILL YOU BITE?
Enderby told her all I required, and then went away. It was like being thrown into the sea, as you may guess; but I imagined I should soon learn to swim. There’s nothing like being cast completely on your own resources, they say. Still it was a bit awkward at coffee-time, when the landlady came up and talked. She poured forth a rapid and resistless stream of friendly Dutch upon me, while I nodded in the intervals and tried to think. It was a very one-sided business. I was very hungry, too, and wanted luncheon. Now there was abundance of this unequal kind of conversation, but no lunch in sight, so I—(remember I knew only ja and neen, and was not very sure of them, either)—I just pointed gracefully to my lips to indicate that I needed food. That produced an immediate effect—a torrent of eloquence forcibly delivered and ending with some enquiry about biting!
I shook my head and said “Neen, neen! You put it too crudely—luncheon—eat—eat.”
“O ja,” she replied, “best. Eten—eten om vijf uur—vijf.” And she held out one hand with the fingers spread. It seemed to me she was swearing there was enough food in the house to satisfy a hungry Irishman.
“Good—so far,” I returned. “Ja, ja!”