It was probably the best retort I could have made. “Ja, wat is het?” he soliloquised, evidently puzzled, “Ik weet het niet. Maar ik heb altijd trek.”
“Ik ook”, said a smaller boy; “in een boterham.”
Tongues were loosened on all sides. “Nee; in een lekker stuk worst,” I heard one say.
“Nee; niet waar”; interrupted a brawny fellow with a brick-red face; “Zuurkool en spek.”
A COSY TALK.
I nipped the unprofitable discussion in the bud by demanding, as I moved away: “Maar wat is trek?”
“Dat weet je wel,” said the first fellow, the wit. “Als je te veel eet.”
“Nee, heelemaal niet,” jeered a late-comer. “Kan je begrijpen! Maar als je niets eet, dan heb je trek!”
The crowd cheered at this. He had evidently the majority with him. High words followed; and the controversy became general, as the protagonists in this psychological debate found backers, and swarmed away towards the centre of town.
I was left alone, and Clotho looked up.