So disgusted was I with my ill-success in Dutch that I tackled the porters in English. An obliging wit-jas asked me if I would have the day-train. “Rather not,” I told him. “There will surely be another train to-night. It’s only nine.”
The first was a bommel, he said, and would do for the fietsen; but he recommended us to wait for the day-train.
“What! And stay here all night?” I asked.
“No,” he explained. “Day-trein will be here soon.”
“How is that?” said I. “How in the wide world can a Day-train go at night? or is it because it started from Germany by day-light? You surely don’t reckon here by Amerikaansche tijd for the sake of the tourists?”
“You not understand,” he explained. “We call it day-trein becos’ you pay more—.”
“Well!” I interrupted; “that would be a Pay-train, then! Not Day.”
“No, no,” he said excitedly. “Zis trein go kwik!—not stop—anywheres!”
“But if it doesn’t stop, how can we get in?” I asked. “Of moet ik belet vragen voor deze Dag-trein? Geeft de trein belet? You’ll need a special kind of ticket, too—perhaps an aanslagsbiljet?”
“No, no; only little bewijsje—kwik trein—bring Restoration—becos’—.”