The old man appeared to be very proud that Antwerp, unlike Brussels, had retained her old Flemish ideas in spite of the march of her trade. He told the boys that it would require at least four days to get a clear idea of Antwerp, and after another day of exploration they began to believe him.
But they made up their minds that they were going to be able to give the folks at home a good account of the city, so they stuck to the task even though Raynor did yawn over pictures of the Old Masters in dull colors and frames. The young engineer was extremely practical, and loudly declared in one of the galleries:—
“Well, that picture may be all right, but give me something with a little ginger and color in it.”
“My, but you’re a vandal!” laughed Jack, consulting a catalogue. “That’s one of the most famous pictures in Europe. It is by Rubens.”
“Guess I’m too much of a Rube-n to appreciate it, then,” was Raynor’s comment.
But he was a methodical lad, as are most persons who have a mechanical bent. He purchased and loyally used a small red note book, in which he jotted down everything they saw, good, bad or indifferent. He soon had one book full, when he promptly began on another, noting down whatever was supposed to be of interest, whether he understood it or not.
The boys enjoyed sitting under the shady trees in the Place Verte, surveying the scene. It is one of the few places in Antwerp from which a clear view of the Cathedral can be obtained, mean-looking houses shouldering up to the great structure and spoiling it from other points of vision.
“Say, Jack,” exclaimed Raynor one evening as they walked rapidly shipward, “I’m getting tired of moldy old cathedrals and rusty old galleries full of Rubes,—beg pardon, I mean Rubens; can’t we do something more lively?”
“What would you suggest?” asked Jack.
“Oh, let’s take a few trips around. Another canal boat ride, for instance, or something like that.”