The unobliging taxi driver laughed at his own stupid joke. Then he started his motor and was off.
The two gentlemen stood for a moment looking at each other. Then one said something in a language that Philippe did not understand. But he felt sure that it was English.
The little boy walked over to the gentlemen.
"Excuse me, sirs," he began in French. "I heard you asking for a place to eat. I can take you to the best restaurant in Brussels."
The gentlemen looked at the little Belgian boy standing before them. Then one of them smiled and said something in English to the other. Philippe did not understand the words, but if you had been there you would have heard the gentleman say to his friend, "Let us take his word for it. He may know something about food. Boys usually do."
The other one laughed and said in French to Philippe, "Thank you. We shall be glad to follow you."
Of course, Philippe led the gentlemen to his father's restaurant. He held the door open for them to enter, and started to leave.
But the gentleman who spoke French said, "Come! Wouldn't you like to lunch with us? You might tell us a bit about the art of Belgian eating. What do you say?"
"Thank you," said Philippe.
He could always eat. His dreams did not prevent that.