“You must not suppose,” said O’Neill, after I had expressed my commiseration, “that I was always unsuccessful in my conversations and business transactions. On the contrary I have sometimes surprised myself and everybody else by the (shall I say?) aptness and readiness of my utterance—not to speak of its delicacy and point.

You smile? But listen.

This was certainly the case one day when I had an interview with an elegant young man who came to me from the Bevolkings Register Bureau.

That is the place where the authorities give themselves so much needless trouble about your address and initials, and where I had broken the law of the land by mixing up the tinsmith with the lightning-conductor.

Well a representative of this Departement of State called upon me two days running, when I was out. The last time he came he left word that he would return next morning at 10.30 sharp; and would I please give him an interview?

I thought it wise to do so.

That unhappy blunder of mine might get me into trouble. Perhaps the officials of the Bevolkings office were going to prosecute me for conspiring to deceive the government. At all events I would be at home at 10.30; and, more than that, I would be ready for my visitor when he came.

I rose about six, and prepared for the proposed conversation as a barrister prepares his brief.

As the man who talks most has generally the situation in his own hand, I determined to keep the greater part of the conversation to myself. All the likely sentences that could possibly be of avail I copied out of the phrase-book on a sheet of foolscap. Some new expressions and idioms were added, and committed as thoroughly as possible to memory.

And, by the way, I made use of a fresh discovery—a number of algemeene opmerkingen from the end of the grammar.

These were on the same lines as the material in the phrase-book, but much more learned. They were for advanced students (I was rather advanced now, so to speak,) and they had a distinct literary and scientific flavour. I went over all these, aloud—my old and favourite plan—so as to gain fluency and facility in uttering them.

Furthermore, not being able to trust my memory absolutely—there was a lot of new stuff to be mastered, you see,—I hit upon a plan to lead the conversation and keep it upon topics of my own choosing.

My strategem was of uncommon simplicity, but admirably effective for all that.

On my table I erected a kind of informal reading-desk composed of books and magazines; then in a hollow of this edifice, out of sight, I placed my manuscript notes where they could easily catch my eye. Two chairs I set carefully in position—one for myself beside my fortress, the other for my visitor in the middle of the room in a good clear light.

Then I awaited results.

At half past ten o’clock sharp there came a ring to the hall-door; and, ushered by the obsequious landlady, in walked a young fellow fashionably dressed, with languid manners and a general air being bored with life. He carried a portfolio gracefully under his arm.

Without waiting for him to begin, I went up to him the moment he entered, and shook him cordially by the hand, I relieved him of his umbrella—he had one though the weather was fine; and as his other hand was thus partially released, I shook it with no less heartiness.

“Blijdschap, mijnheer!” I began, “Blijdschap en vreugde! Het verblijdt mij zeer—U te ontmoeten! Mag ik U verzoeken Uw jas af te zetten. Wat? Nee?”

As the day was burning hot and he wore no overcoat, I didn’t insist upon this.

“Zij het zoo, myn waarde!—Neem een stoel,” I continued. “Ga zitten, ik bid U. Het is aangenaam weer.—Volstrekt niet koud—neen—niet koud.”

This was well within the mark, for it was 89° in the shade.

My Dutch seemed to surprise him for he said feebly “Dag—Sir—Yes—I mean—O ja.”

I saw he was just the kind of young man that I could have a pleasant talk with. But it was now time I got back to my notes. Before sitting down however, I asked to take charge of his hat.

“Handig mij Uw hoed over!” I said, reaching for it. When he hesitated, I put him at his ease with an “alstjeblieft; toe dan! toe!”

Though there was an interval of a second or two whilst I was getting behind my barricade he was too astonished to utter a sound, either in Dutch or in English. I perceived my advantage and intended to keep it.

“Mag ik u iets aanbieden?” I said with a wave of the hand, throwing in some nonsense out the grammar.

“Wat gebruikt U?—ah—hm—Een—voorzetsel, bijvoorbeeld?—of—de gebiedende wijs—of—een bijvoeglijk naamwoord? Wat—niets?”

As he still said nothing, I pointed him to my cupboards, by happy inspiration remembering the refrain of the vendor of eatables at one of the stations, “Bierr, limonade, spuitwater?” adding—“Bitterkoekjes en ijskoud bier; of—een amandel broodje?”

It was well he didn’t accept, for I had none of these dainties in the house; but it sounded friendly to offer them.

“Of,” I put in, sinking my voice to a confidential whisper, “Spreekt U liever over de Nieuwe Electrische Tramweg? Wel, dan.—Het publiek wordt gewaarschuwd het personeel niet in gesprek te houden.”

Very faintly came the reply, as he moved restlessly on the edge of his chair, “Mynheer, ik kwam niet om de Tramweg.”

“Neen?” I said. “Goed. Best. Ik neem het ook niet kwalijk, mijnheer! ik bid U welkom!—Het doet mij genoegen, na al het ongunstige weer van verleden week, U zoo goed en wel te zien.”

The weather had been quite hot; but this was one of the good phrases of the book, and I stuck to it.

All this appeared to increase his panic, and he glanced at the door more than once as if he would like to make a bolt for safety.

Now I was quite in my element, and from my palissade of books I could hurl all sorts of irrelevant politenesses at him.

“Ik verwelkom U oprechtelijk, mijnheer. U bezoek is mij oorzaak van ongeveinsde blijdschap.”

Holding the portfolio clenched in both hands he stared at me as if he was incapable of speech.

This seemed a favourable opportunity for putting in an algemeene opmerking, which I must say had all the effect of a round shot after infantry fire.

“Deugden en belooning gaan zelden te zamen,” I murmured pleasantly, with a friendly gesture of deprecation. Then in a second or two afterwards I added,—leaving him to find out the connection as best he might,—“Water bevriest op twee-en-dertig graden.”

The more outrageous the nonsense which I repeated from my notes, the paler he got.

He seemed to measure the distance between his seat and the door; but I rose and walked about the room, repeating softly to myself such phrases as I knew well, no matter what meaning they might have—“Lamaar! pas op! niet pluis, hoor!—’t komt er niet op aan!”

Some midges were buzzing about the room. I pointed to them saying “akelige beesten, nie waar?” And making a sudden spring towards one that was approaching his head I impaled it, or rather smashed it, in the approved fashion between my hands. The fragments of the insect I displayed to him on my palm adding triumphantly; “Dood als een pier.” He was ready to go.

Laying at last a fatherly hand upon his shoulder I genially enquired, “Vergun my te vragen, jongeling,—hoe is het—met uwe—achtenswaardige ouders?”

“O ja, mijnheer”, he said in a breathless whisper. “Ja zeker, mijnheer. Dank U zeer—Ik moet weg, sir. Ik heb belet—thuis—Ik moet weg—Ik zal het U zenden.”—

And he was gone! gone, too, without his hat!

I was left master of the field.

Ringing the bell, I rushed to the landing and called after him, “Duizendmaal vergiffenis, Bevolkings Mijnheer!—Uw hoed!”

But that hurried him only the more swiftly down those steep stairs; and I was sincerely glad to observe that the landlady, like a good goal-keeper, had stopped him at the door, where they entered into earnest colloquy.

I had won this conversational contest; and half my ammunition was not yet expended!

Eight polite sentences and about a dozen ‘algemeene opmerkingen’ remained unused, besides two general topics—‘boomkweekerij’ and Rembrandt.

But what did he mean by ‘Ik zal het U zenden?’ What was it that he meant to send? I devoutly hoped there would be no further difficulty about my address, and was just trusting I had escaped, when the landlady entered with the words, “Hij moet zijn hoed hebbe.” Then, as she took it in her hand, she added “Mijnheer zegt, dat het niet veilig in huis is—niet veilig, zegt mijnheer!”

“Hij vraagt ook wat de groote letter is vÓÓr O’Neill? Of het een J of een I of een T of een F of een Y is, niemand op het kantoor kan het uitmaken, Uw handschrift is zoo onduidelijk, zegt mijnheer.”

Relieved to see there was nothing worse, I went to some old copies of the ‘Nieuws van den Dag,’ which were lying carefully folded up on the side-table, and with a pair of scissors cut out a J from the word Juli, pasted it hastily on a sheet of notepaper and wrote underneath it, ‘Met veel complimenten—en de groeten.’

Yes; the interview was decidedly successful.

Yet it pales before the fame I once got by a single sentence, just outside de Beurs-station, in Rotterdam.

I was pounced upon by an army of porters; they had seized me and my bag, and were quarrelling loudly. I said “Hush” to the worst of them, but one brawny rascal was inclined to be insolent, and I was put upon my mettle.

“Ik bid U—houd Uwen bek,” I said—“anders,”—and here I glanced round for a policeman, “anders—roep ik—de Openbare Macht.”

The man ran like a hare.

I pride myself that there was dignity and firmness, courtesy and local colour all in that one sentence.

And I find that it is still much admired.