Kitabı oku: «Polly and Her Friends Abroad», sayfa 8
CHAPTER VIII – DODO MEETS ANOTHER “TITLE”
The next day they visited the Gobelin Tapestries. There was but one word to express the wonderful work exhibited – and that was “Exquisite.” Some of these tapestries are “worth a crown.”
“It doesn’t seem possible that anyone could weave such delicate lace-like patterns with mere threads and human hands,” said Polly.
“And such colorings, too! Did you ever see such green velvety lichen as seems growing on those old grey monoliths?” added Eleanor.
“See the tiny dash of red that is necessary, given by the pigeon berry growing in that lichen,” remarked Polly.
The others said nothing, because they were so impressed by the beauty of the complete picture that the details failed to reach them. Then Mr. Fabian told the history of the Gobelins.
“In its foundation year there were two hundred and fifty weavers engaged in weaving these marvellous tapestries. But that number has dwindled, today, to sixty. And there used to be an annual appropriation of two hundred thousand francs that today has dwindled, also; to fifty thousand francs.
“The famous old Gobelins owned by the State, and exhibited at the Museums and at public buildings in Paris, are today worth fortunes. Few are owned by the Trade and such as are are the more modern pieces that date back to Napoleon III.
“Many pieces of rare Gobelins were sold because of royal vicissitudes previous to 1870, but since then no tapestries have been available to the public. This enhances the value of any Gobelin that was sold to assist the Treasury in 1852.
“One of the most famous series ever produced, known as ‘Portières of the Gods,’ consists of eight pieces, representing the four seasons and the four elements. Each design is personified by one of the gods or goddesses of Olympus. This series has been repeated until there are two hundred and thirty-seven sets that left the looms.
“When one of these portières of the gods appear in a sale there is most lively bidding for it, and prices soar higher than any other Gobelin usually brings.
“The ‘Don Quixote’ series of five pieces, is perhaps the most famous of all Gobelins recently sold. To show the keen appreciation of such tapestry, the price paid at a sale of such was six hundred thousand francs.”
As Mr. Fabian concluded, Polly laughingly remarked: “I wonder if Nolla and I will ever reach that degree in decorating where a customer will commission us to go and buy such a tapestry.”
“Of course you will! As soon as I marry that title that Ma is hunting up for me, I’ll give you the order for the whole set,” laughed Dodo.
“Let’s hope we may have to wait forever, then, if the commission depends on your misery,” retorted Eleanor.
After leaving the Gobelins, Mr. Fabian took his party to some of the old curio shops in Paris, where one can spend many interesting hours – if one likes antiques.
That evening Mr. Alexander insisted upon their going, as his guests, to one of the famous cafés. And as they sat at one of the way-side tables watching the stream of pleasure-seekers go past, Dodo suddenly drew the attention of her companions to a man who was strolling by.
“Now there’s what I call a really handsome Frenchman,” whispered she.
“Why, if it isn’t Count Chalmys!” exclaimed Nancy, jumping up to catch hold of the gentleman’s arm.
“What’s that! Anuther title?” asked Mr. Alexander with a frown.
“Yes, but don’t worry, Pa,” laughed Dodo, encouragingly. “If Ma’s not about there’s no danger for you and me.”
The others laughed at Mr. Alexander’s evident concern and Dodo’s instant rejoinder to his question. Then Nancy brought the gentleman over to meet her friends. He shook hands with Mrs. Fabian and then turned to acknowledge the introductions.
“This is Miss Polly Brewster and Miss Eleanor Maynard whom I told you about, when they discovered the gold mine on the mountains in Colorado – you remember?”
“Ah, to be sure!” responded the Count.
“And Miss Dorothy Alexander from Denver, Mr. Alexander her father, and my father, Mr. Fabian. This is Count Chalmys, of Northern Italy, friends.”
Everyone acknowledged the introduction, and the Count seemed over-joyed to meet so many of “Mees Nancy’s” friends. He sat down with the group and soon led the conversation. Mr. Alexander sat glowering at him but it was difficult to read the little man’s thoughts.
The Count seemed more attracted to Polly than to the other girls, but then he had heard of Rainbow Cliffs and that Gold Mine, thought Dodo. On the walk to the hotel, he mentioned a famous collector’s sale which would begin the following day at one of the Auction Galleries.
“Oh, are you interested in antiques, then?” asked Polly, eagerly.
“I like paintings – old masters and such things. I never lose an opportunity to secure one when it is offered for sale. My palace, near Venice, is a museum of paintings. You must visit it when you tour Italy,” responded the Count.
Mr. Fabian now asked: “Is it possible for us to secure an entrance to this sale, Count?”
“I can easily secure tickets and a catalogue for you, Monsieur Fabian. Will the young ladies be pleased to attend, also?”
“Oh yes, it is for their interests that I would like to attend, and explain various objects that might be found in the collection.”
“Then leave it to me, Monsieur. I will arrange everything for their convenience.”
The Count left the Americans at the hotel door, and said good-night. As they all walked laughingly through the main lobby, the clerk sent a page after them with a cablegram. It was for Mr. Alexander and he felt a tremor of apprehension as he took it.
He turned to the others and said (exactly as he had heard Mr. Fabian do) “Pardon me, whiles I read what the missus has to say now.” Then he quickly opened the envelope.
“Well, that settles my vacation!” exclaimed he.
“What’s the matter, Pa?” asked Dodo, anxiously.
“Ma’s gone and got that roadster for two – it is a Packard the same as our other car, but now she wants to tour around, and she thinks she will bring Jimmy over to Paris for a little jaunt.”
“Jimmy! Good gracious, why will she have to bring that child with her?” complained Dodo, poutingly.
“She wouldn’t bring him, Dodo, if she thought there were better ‘handles’ to be had on the Continent,” laughed Eleanor.
“That’s a good idea! Pa, we’ll wire Ma to leave Jimmy there, as she’ll have more fun selecting her future son-in-law from the crowd of titles she can have for the asking, over here,” eagerly suggested Dodo.
Mr. Alexander seemed to take the suggestion seriously, for he returned: “I’ll step over, now, and send a word that will keep that little Osgood boy at home with his folks.”
No one knew what Mr. Alexander said in his message, but the next day a reply came, saying: “I will do as you say, and not come over at once. Try and arrange everything satisfactorily for us.”
Even Dodo could not coax her father to tell what he had said, but it was evident that Mrs. Alexander felt satisfied to remain in England and leave other matters in the hands of her spouse.
The Count called on the tourists at the hotel, that morning, with the tickets of admission to the sale, and Mr. Alexander drove them to the Gallery, and left them there for the day.
They were given good seats in the front row of buyers, and the moment the sale began everyone was interested in the collection. That day, Polly secured a Gothic wedding-chest with ornamented and beautifully carved sides and lid. Mr. Fabian bought two panels from a XVI century door which he planned to use for two table-ends for his library table.
Eleanor and Dodo bought a few smaller trifles, but that day’s sale brought out such a conglomeration of beautiful objects, as well as dreadful imitations, that Mr. Fabian warned the girls about bidding injudiciously.
“This sale offers a fine opportunity of study for us, girls, but let me advise you before you bid on anything. I want you to look well at everything put up, and tell me why it is good, or what makes it impossible. In this way, you will learn a great deal, even though you may not care to buy the articles we criticise.”
Then he turned to Dodo and added: “One cannot train his eyes to recognize art and beauty at once, you see. Your eyes may criticise and your hands may accomplish art-work, but the inspiration that truly expresses art comes from Mind alone. Thus the finer and more harmonious the thoughts of the mentality that thinks, the more beautiful and perfect will be his achievement in any line of work.
“Take our own line, for instance – interior decorating. The genius is one who has sympathy, tact, good sense, and practicality, combined with his talent to select, assort, group and arrange the numerous objects necessary to create an atmosphere.
“Wall-coverings and hangings, floor-coverings, pictures, lighting-fixtures and trim of rooms, are fully as important a feature in an effect, as the furniture of the room, for it all goes to make the complete picture of a home.
“No novice can win laurels in this line, Dodo. But one who earnestly studies and conscientiously applies the valuable experiences of other successful artists of the past, will win. That is why I wanted my girls to see the collections in Europe – to benefit them by the successes and hard work of others, whose work of past times is still found to be the best of its kind, and now are on free exhibition in museums and chateaux of the Continent.”
Turning to the other girls who were listening to him, he added: “Now gaze about and remember. Tell me how not to decorate with impossible objects on view here and elsewhere; and how to use what is really good that will combine to present a perfect interior.”
Then the girls took a new interest in studying and criticising the different pieces that were placed on sale. Dodo showed an aptitude that astonished Mr. Fabian and his students, for no one had given her credit for having such a critical sense on works of art.
The first piece exhibited for sale was a secretaire. The other girls were still musing over its form and construction when Dodo exclaimed impetuously: “Oh what a monstrosity! even though it has a beautiful grain in the wood, it is so awfully clumsy.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Mr. Fabian, highly pleased, while the Count turned to notice the girl he had paid no attention to, before this.
“Why just look at it! With its heavy thick-set legs that belong to a rhinoceros, and its slender graceful body that looks like a fawn’s.”
Everyone within hearing of this remark, laughed softly. Loud speaking or disturbing sounds were forbidden, so Polly and Eleanor had to hush their merriment with their handkerchiefs.
The Count suddenly adjusted the monocle he affected and whispered to Polly: “You must be proud of your fellow-student.”
Polly instantly replied, without explaining the situation: “Oh yes, we are. Dodo is very remarkable in many ways.”
But Mr. Fabian said, as soon as he could control his sense of humor, “Dodo, you have a true eye for lines, and that criticism is worthy of a news-paper man – it is so graphic.”
Following the secretaire, were several pieces of nondescript furniture that was quickly bid upon and sold to people who wanted mere articles for use and not for beauty. Then a suite of furniture was placed upon the dais and the auctioneer began to point out its especial claims to beauty.
“Girls, is anything wrong with that furniture? Who would use it in a home, and what style of house does it belong in?” said Mr. Fabian.
Again Dodo was the first with her criticism. “Who wants doleful furniture, in a bed-room, to make you weep just as you lose consciousness in sleep? One needs cheerful objects to close one’s eyes upon, and also to bid you good-morning when you wake up.”
“Fine!” complimented Count Chalmys, still more interested in this precocious young lady of not yet seventeen.
“True, and who wants majestic pieces in a nursery?” said Eleanor.
“Or dainty personal lounges or chairs in the City Hall,” added Polly, smilingly.
“Exactly, girls! I am so proud of you all that I feel as if someone had presented me with a bouquet of flowers.”
The impossible set of furniture had been sold and now a Gothic armchair of carved deadwood, upholstered in faded tapestry with beautiful blends of colors that only great age could produce was brought out and placed on exhibition. The moment Polly saw it she made up her mind to have it. But she now knew how to go about bidding in a public sale, because of the experience Eleanor and she had had in New York, when they went about with Mr. Fabian.
The auctioneer started the chair at a reasonable figure and instantly there was lively bidding for it. Polly said not a word but waited eagerly. Then one bidder after another fell out of the contest, until it finally narrowed down to two men.
Polly’s companions knew that she was but waiting her time to speak out. And they were anxiously watching the two men who seemed bent on getting the chair. Finally one of the men shook his head to indicate that he would go no higher, and the auctioneer said: “What! Is this all I can get for this fine example of cabinet-work?”
Very calmly and quietly, then, Polly raised the last bid.
Everyone turned to glance at the unexpected contestant, and the amazement expressed on many faces, as well as on that of the auctioneer because of the girl’s youth amused Polly’s friends. The auctioneer asked: “Did the young lady make a bid?”
Polly noded affirmatively. But the man who was bidding thought to cut her out by raising his bid considerably higher. The salesman turned then to Polly to see if she still wished to bid.
“Double his bid!” called out Polly.
Again there was surprise shown by others, and the man who thought he had frightened off his youthful opponent, frowned.
When the auctioneer smilingly looked to the collector to increase his bid, the man carefully raised it a small sum. Polly now knew he was wary of spending his money, so she took advantage of the cue to call out a figure that was startlingly higher than the collector’s; so that he instantly shook his head in refusal of any further bidding or interest in the chair.
“What! no higher bid from you when you want this chair?” coaxed the auctioneer.
Again the man frowned and shook his head positively, but he did this hoping Polly would weaken, and then he would come back and mention a slight increase on her price.
The auctioneer thinking his negative signal was final, turned to Polly and said: “It’s yours, Miss. And allow me to congratulate you, not alone on having acquired the finest bit in this entire lot, but also on being a very clever and experienced buyer.”
The moment the collector realized that the auctioneer had knocked down the chair to his adversary without again consulting him, he protested. “I claim that chair!” cried he.
“By what right?” demanded the auctioneer.
“Because I was bidding on it against this young lady, and you did not cry it three times as you should have done.”
“I asked you, and you shook your head. Then I told you it was worth higher bidding, but you denied going higher – a shake of the head is as legal a denial as a spoken word, in this case. I have witnesses that you refused to go higher, so I sold it to the young lady.”
The man who was a dealer and had a customer for such a chair, was furious at having lost it to a mere girl. He began an argument, but the auctioneer calmly remarked: “This is a public sale, and as such, order must be maintained. I shall have to ask anyone creating a disturbance to leave the premises.”
That quieted the disputant, and Polly kept her chair. Her companions congratulated her on securing it, but Mr. Fabian wished to know why she took such a sudden fancy for the piece of furniture, when there were other fine pieces that might appeal to a girl.
“Because, the moment I saw that chair tapestry it reminded me of my home at Pebbly Pit. We have just such wonderful sunsets as that chair covering represents. Glorious colors that flare in points at some places, and then fade away in the western sky like misty violets in a rivulet; or like the gray of twilight before night falls,” explained Polly, reminiscently.
“Oh yes, Polly,” assented Eleanor. “Just like we saw over Rainbow Cliffs, so many times.”
“Miss Polly is some artiste natural born, I think,” said the Count, who had been deeply impressed by the girl’s remark.
“Polly’s a poet and doesn’t know it!” declared Dodo, fervently. “If I ever could say such a lovely thing in words about an old chair, I’d begin to believe I had escaped Ma’s plans for a title in the family.”
Of course her companions laughed at her unconscious rhyme and, also, at her quaint expression of face, but the Count wondered what she meant by “a title in the family.”
After Polly secured the armchair, Eleanor bid upon and got a XVI century cabinet of the Lyonnaise school; and Dodo bought a Renaissance hall table. Mr. Fabian secured a Spanish Renaissance divan, and the Count managed to buy the pictures he wanted. Towards the end of the day, Polly and Eleanor secured a few odd things, such as an iron lock, chiselled from a solid block of metal that was said to date from the XV century; and Polly got an old door-knocker that was more than two hundred years old.
The last group of furniture pieces put up for sale, that day, was arranged on the dais just as Mr. Fabian was preparing to go. He turned and saw it, then the auctioneer called out: “Here is a splendid suite of furniture for a bachelor’s den. Now what am I bid for it?”
Mr. Fabian whispered to the girls: “It is a pity the man should try to sell that set by praising it as he did. He knows, only too well, that it is unsuitable for a man’s room. But tell me why, girls?”
Dodo curled her lips in scorn at the elaborate pieces and remarked: “Would one wish to decorate a ball-room with black crêpe?”
Her friends laughed at the very sarcastic criticism, and the Count said, smilingly: “But that is not mourning furniture!”
“No, but it is just as bad taste for a man’s room. Why should a bachelor’s den use soft tints and motifs of Louis XVI period, when they are more appropriate in a reception room, or a lady’s boudoir?”
That last retort from such a prepossessing girl, completed the havoc in the Count’s susceptible heart. He thenceforth planned to lay his title and encumbered Italian estate at Dodo’s feet. But he found it not as easy as he had thought for, when he took this fervent decision.
He invited the American party to be his guests that night, at dinner, and he arranged so that he could sit next to Dodo. But that was all the good it did him, for the girls were so full of the fun and joys of bargain hunting that they spoke of nothing else.
After the exultation of possession had calmed down, somewhat, Nancy Fabian said: “Daddy, why are some such atrocious pieces of furniture as we saw today flung to the people?”
“One reason why France has, of recent years, had some such uncouth furniture made, is because the Guild of Cabinet Makers is no longer in existence to enforce its laws. There was once a provision made, in 1645, that every piece of furniture made in France had to be passed upon by the Guild. And that is why old furniture from these French cabinet makers, is so highly prized by collectors, now.
“This Guild examined every aspirant to the title of Master Craftsman, and without a certificate signed by ten of the jurors of the Guild, he dared not establish himself; their regulations were very strict so as to protect art, consequently but few atrocities were cast upon the market of France for more than two hundred years after the founding of this protective Guild.”
“Well, it’s too bad we haven’t a Guild in America,” said Polly, her tone causing her friends to laugh heartily.
CHAPTER IX – MR. ALEXANDER’S SURPRISE
The next day Mr. Fabian conducted his girls to various cathedrals and famous buildings in the city, and that night they returned to the hotel to find little Mr. Alexander standing in front of it waiting for them.
“I’ve got turrible news for you-all,” said he in a most lugubrious tone. His face expressed the greatest sorrow and concern.
“My goodness, Pa! What’s the matter?” cried Dodo, anxiously.
“It’s worse than you-all can reckon, so I’ll tell you. This afternoon when I come back from a little joy-ride, I saw a dandy little car out here, but when I took a good squint at it I saw it were a Packard Roadster. At that, my legs began to shake and I feared Maggie might have come over, in spite of my wire to her.
“And then, before I could get courage to go indoors, I heard her voice. I tried to hide behind that big pillar, there, but no use! So, Dodo, your Ma’s here and is in the parlor talking to Count Chalmys.”
As everyone had expected to hear dire news, the relief upon hearing that Mrs. Alexander had arrived was so great that it caused a general laugh. Nancy Fabian turned and asked of the little millionaire: “How did your wife meet the Count?”
“Oh, I figgered that she would be so glad to know a real live Count, that I saved my own head that way. She won’t remember my misdeeds now,” softly laughed Mr. Alexander.
When the exchange of effusive greetings on the part of Mrs. Alexander, and the quiet welcome from the other Americans, had subsided, she remembered something to tell Dodo, that concerned her deeply.
“What do you think, Dodo? About those Osgoods?”
“How should I know, Ma. Your tone indicates that you are not very well pleased with them, whatever it is,” replied Dodo.
“I should say not! Why, I found out that the title of ‘Sir’ and ‘Lady’ does not mean anything in their family. Jimmy can’t inherit the honor, either. His father got it because he did something unusual with a factory that made munitions when the war first broke out. It wasn’t an entailed title at all, and it stops with this Osgood. Dear me! When I think of it – you might have had to marry just a plain James Osgood, after all!”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t, Ma. I said from the first, that I never would marry anyone I didn’t like. And it would take an American to do that,” declared Dodo.
“What happened when you learned about the title, Maggie?” asked Mr. Alexander, unusually gay over the information.
“Why, I just told Jimmy Osgood that I wouldn’t take him to Paris in my new car, if that was the case. I think they might have told me how such matters were conducted in England, then I might have spared all my time in planning as I did.” Mrs. Alexander’s voice plainly expressed the disapproval she felt at keeping her in ignorance of the methods of Burke.
Her hearers managed to keep straight faces, however, and waited until the Count said good-day. Then they all went upstairs to plan about the tour in Europe.
“I invited Count Chalmys to accept the empty seat beside me in my new roadster,” ventured Mrs. Alexander.
“You did!” gasped Dodo, unbelievingly.
“But he refused, didn’t he?” said Nancy, confidently.
“Oh no! he said he’d be delighted. He planned to go home to his castle, soon, and he said you-all were going to visit him there; so he felt he might accept my invitation to tour with me, as long as we were to be all in one party,” explained Mrs. Alexander, greatly pleased with the outcome of her meeting with the Count.
Dodo groaned, and her friends smiled in sympathy, for they understood the reason of Mrs. Alexander’s sudden interest in an Italian Count.
“When do you propose to start on this tour?” asked the lady, after a few moments of silence.
“Right away – tomorrow!” declared Dodo, angrily.
“Oh! surely not before we buy some nice gowns and things to wear?” cried her mother, tragically.
“Yes, at once! I don’t want any new clothes!” snapped Dodo.
“But, my child! What about that trooso chest. It ought to be filled, you know, to be ready to send home,” reminded the mother.
“Oh, I gave that chest away for a birthday gift,” said Dodo, indifferently.
“Gave it away! Why – what for?” gasped Mrs. Alexander.
“I didn’t want it, and it was my very own – you said so.”
As that was true, nothing more was said about the chest, at the time, but nothing could stop Mrs. Alexander from planning and scheming about her daughter’s future. As the other girls and Mrs. Fabian said nothing about shopping, but preferred waiting until they returned to Paris again, it was decided that they would start on the trip the following day. That evening was devoted to studying a road-map and selecting an itinerary.
Mr. Alexander had but one desire in the matter, and that began and ended with the first lap of the drive. “I want to see the war-zone, where our boys fit them Germans. I hear ’em tell in the hotel lobby, that the roads are fair all through them battle fields like Verdun, on the Somme, and others. So I want to drive there, and then, afterwards, you can do what you-all like on this tour with me as chauffeur.”
“Oh, we all want to pass through those famous places, too, so that is settled,” exclaimed Nancy Fabian, glancing at her friends for approval of this plan.
“All right. Put that down on your paper, Professor,” advised Mr. Alexander; then he leaned back and sighed as if he had done all that was expected of him.
After several hours of planning and writing, the route was mapped out, and the group felt that it was as good as any ever made by a number of tourists.
It was noon the next day before the party really started on its way, as the Count failed to appear on time, and an hour was lost in trying to get him on a telephone. When he did appear, he had a gorgeous bouquet of hothouse flowers for Mrs. Alexander, and a huge box of bon-bons for the girls.
That afternoon they drove over the famous sector where millions fought and fell for a Principle, in the greatest mortal combat the world has ever witnessed. After seeing the ruins the war made of Verdun, as well as of other villages, Mr. Alexander drove to Reims. Here they found quarters for the night, and waited to visit the cathedral in the morning.
From Reims they went through St. Quentin, and on to Boulogne. That night they stopped at a quaint inn in Normandy. The ancient hostelry was but two stories high, with upper windows overlooking a wonderful garden. The high stone wall that enclosed this garden had niches, every so often, in the thick wall.
Mr. Fabian spoke excellent French, and the other members in the party understood everything that was said, so all enjoyed the conversation that now took place.
“Have you been owner of this Inn very long?” asked Mr. Fabian, courteously.
“All my life, and my father and grandfather before me,” was the unexpected reply.
“Then you can tell me if this is an old house, or only modelled after the old style.”
“Ah!” breathed the old man, softly. “It ees so old that my grandfather knew not when it was built. It ees the gate-house of a convent that formerly was famous. When it was abandoned, because of the Order being abolished by law, my grandfather was left to supervise the work.
“He bought the property when it was sold, and since then his descendants have lived here. With the old stone gate-house this garden patch was included, but all the other buildings were razed and the land sold.”
“How interesting,” remarked Mr. Fabian. “Then that old garden was really part of the original convent grounds?”
“Yes, and those niches you see in the wall held statues and holy figures at one time. Some of them were carved by well-known men about here. I found several of them buried in the garden when I turned up the soil for my father. I was but a boy, then, and I remember he took them away and put them in the attic.”
The old host then showed the guests to their various rooms and left them to wash and dress for the evening meal. Polly stood gazing from her window for a time, picturing the life of past days in that garden, when Eleanor exclaimed suddenly and called to her.
“Just look at this heavy walnut bed. It has the most marvellous carvings on its head and foot boards.”
After examining the figures carved on the wood, Polly went to the toilet-stand and poured some water from a heavy ewer into the stoneware basin. As she was about to place the ewer on the tiled floor beside the stand, she saw the carved panels that formed the sides of the stand.
“Nolla! Do help me move this heavy stand out to the light – I verily believe it is an antique!” cried she.
Having satisfied themselves that the panels were genuine old pieces, they ran to Mr. Fabian’s room and called him forth. He examined the stand and the bed, and some of the old stoneware pieces in the room, and sighed. “We’ve stumbled over a veritable Mecca of antiques, girls,” said he.
That night after supper, Mr. Fabian led the host to tell of how he acquired the pieces of furniture. And the result of that talk was the purchase of the stand, the bed, and many smaller pieces of stoneware and odd furnishings that had been replevined from the convent building, generations before. Even the few statues that had been stored in the low attic of the Inn were sold to the Americans; and the old couple were made happy at the knowledge that, at last, they were provided for in old age, through the sale of the objects that they could readily do without.
The Count was made supremely happy with the purchase of a holy picture which he declared was from the brush of an old master. And Mrs. Alexander smiled contentedly because the Count was so kind and chivalrous to her.
A group of humble peasants gathered, the following morning, to wish the tourists God-speed, for the entire village had heard of the good fortune that had come to their old friends at the Inn. When a few furlongs farther on from the Inn, Mr. Fabian read a sign that said “To Abbeville,” he said aloud, “Well, of all things! We stopped at that famous old convent spot and never knew it, until this minute.”
From Boulogne, where they wired Mr. Ashby about the bed and other articles they had secured, they drove to Ostend. Thence to Bruges, where Mr. Fabian showed the girls the famous Belfry that is three hundred and fifty feet high. The quaint irregular houses in the streets of the town were duly admired and snapshots taken of them by Dodo; then the two cars started for Antwerp.
