She dipped a periwinkle in one of the weird cups, and held it towards me.
“Heeft Mijnheer trek?” Would I join in the repast!
“Ik? Duizendmaal verschooning!” I said, as I quickened my pace in rapid retreat.
My confusion increased as I reflected that I had probably been urging my late interlocutors to “define appetite”—a thing even Aristotle could hardly do. Naturally the populace broke into parties—Aristotelians and Platonists (let us say), or into Hoekschen en Kabeljauwschen.
THE CHAT.
In any case my confidence was shaken in my improved, home-made Berlitz. It might be splendid for travelling; but in ordinary life it didn’t seem to cover the ground.
On arriving at my lodgings I was met at the door by the landlady’s son. He was beaming. Lately he had been working up his English, and truly had made giant strides.
“Koot eeffening, Sir,” he said; “Koot eeffening! Ai hef an little chat.” “I wish to have a chat”, he seemed to mean.
It was an odd request for a trifling practice in English; but I like to encourage merit, so I assured him of my willingness to have a friendly talk.
“Oh, yes. All right,” I said. “But won’t you come up stairs? We have a few minutes before supper.”