Well; then he explained, and argued, and tried to proselytize me. He was making hay while the sun shone—which meant that he was preparing, in the absence of Terence and Kathleen, for his famous cycling-tour; getting on his armour, in fact.
In such spirits I had never seen him.
And, I must say, he made out a good case for his method. It seems he had anticipated most of the queries he might be obliged to put during his travels. He had docketed every part of a railway carriage, and even mastered all sorts of regulations, from those of the Luxe-trein to Buurtverkeer, and from the yearly ticket to the humble perronkaartje. It looked very thorough, and I understood that he had treated his cycle the same way. But I have grave doubts! I am the more confirmed in my scepticism from what the landlady told me at the door. After reassuring her on the score of O’Neill’s health, I emphasised the fact that he was going on a trip, and must practise Dutch by way of preparation.
THE GROOTE WATER-BAAS.
That was worse than all, she thought; as Mijnheer O’Neill would certainly come to harm. “Hij is zoo veranderd! Hè! Het is zoo eng.”
Yesterday he had asked her about the print of a sea-fight that her little boy had put up in the hall. She said it was de Ruyter; and began to expatiate on that hero’s achievements.
But he cut her short with: “Een beroemde man was hij zeker; misschien de grootste water-baas van zijn tijd.”
I explained that he probably meant zee-held; but not remembering the right term in time, had taken one like it.
But the landlady could not be pacified.
“Het doet mij huiveren te denken dat hij op reis gaat!” she said.