FARMER GERRIT’S VISIT TO AMSTERDAM.
Gerrit Meeuwsen and his son Gijs, living in the depths of the country, in the Betuwe district (the old Batavian Island, between the Rhine and the Waal), have made up their minds—after long deliberation—for an expedition by rail to the Amsterdam kermis. As they have never left home before, preparations are made which suggest an Arctic voyage, and they take a solemn farewell of their friends and relations. The railway station is safely reached, after a drive of many miles; and Gerrit severs the last link, so to speak, by sending back Jan—the farm-man—with the trap.
“G’morning,” said father and son, at once.
“Good-morning, friends,” replied the station clerk, who was seated at a table doing sums.
Meeuwsen took off his great woollen gloves, hauled out his double-cased watch, and said, “Might it be about time for the railway to come?”
“Don’t know,” answered Gijs, who thought that his father was asking the question of him.
The clerk, a good-natured fellow, understanding that the question was addressed to him, replied, “Oh! I suppose you mean the train. Yes, that will be coming by very soon,—perhaps in thirteen, or fourteen, or fifteen minutes. Where do you want to go?”
“To Amsterdam,” replied Meeuwsen.
“Amsterdam—third-class?” asked the clerk.
“Third-class, what’s that?” returned Gerrit.