Gerrit looked at his son, and then both stumbled along the shaking carriage to the other end, and occupied the end seats.
“That’s a difference!” said Gijs, whose skin felt like that of a plucked chicken.
“Well, this does shake!” said Meeuwsen. “No!—that third-class is enough to kill one!”
Nathan, who was reading a book, which, as Gerrit could see, seemed to begin at the end and go backwards, did not speak again. The second travelling-companion had turned up the collar of his thick overcoat and was snoring; and our two gentlemen from Betuwe, having nothing to say to each other, were silent, and thought—what, no one ever will know.
After a few minutes’ run, a conductor appeared—whence, neither Gerrit nor Gijs could understand—and asked them, “Where for, gentlemen?”
“Gentlemen!” exclaimed Gerrit, with fine scorn, “that won’t go down with us!”
“Farmers, then!” said the conductor, “where for?”
Meeuwsen thought the fellow had no manners, and said, “I and my son for Amsterdam.”
“Show your tickets, please,” said the conductor.
Meeuwsen began to search for them.... “I’d put them away so carefully,” he remarked, while turning out all his pockets.