The official removed his cap and bowed low.
“Bonjours, messieurs,” said he; “les billets, si vous plait.”
“I guess he wants our tickets,” said Jack, fishing for his. This surmise proved to be correct.
The politeness of the official was more marked, if it could be possible, when he saw, from the signature on the passes, that the boys were traveling under “royal auspices.” He raised his cap and bowed again. Not to be outdone, the boys bowed back with equal suavity.
“Merci bien,” he said.
“Merci bien,” responded Jack, who had acquired some French at high school.
“Mercy beans, too,” sputtered young Raynor, thinking that Jack was giving an order for a Boston lunch. The conductor bowed again and vanished, a bell rang and they were off. The ride lay through a farming region and the road was cool, clean and smooth.
On their arrival in Brussels, they found accommodation at a hotel overlooking the public square. The windows, although the maître de hotel had assured them that it was one of the best rooms in the house, were only four feet high.
“Gee, we have to lie down to look out!” exclaimed Raynor.
“On the square?” asked Jack with a grin.