"May I ask if you have many friends in Brussels?" Under the
politeness of the inquiry Quentin, with amusement, saw the real
interest. Looking calmly into the Italian's beady eyes, he said:

"I know but four persons here, and you are included in the list. My
servant is another. Mrs. and Miss Garrison are old and particular
friends, you know. In fact, my dear duke, I don't believe I should
have come to Brussels at all were they not here."

"They are most charming and agreeable," murmured the duke. "This is
such a frightful crowd Shall we not cross to the other side?"

"What's the use? I used to play football--you don't know what that
is, I suppose--and I'll show you how to get through a mob. Get in
front--that's right--and I'll bring up in the rear." Laughing to
himself, he brought his big frame up against the little man's back
and surged forward. Sure enough, they went "through the mob," but
the duke was the volley end of the battering ram. Never in all his
life had he made such hurried and seemingly unnecessary progress
through a blockading crowd of roisterers. When they finally went
lunging into the half-deserted Rue de la Madeleine, his silk hat was
awry, his composure was ruffled, and he was very much out of breath.
Phil, supremely at ease, heaved a sigh of satisfaction, drawing from
the Italian a half-angry, half-admiring glance.

"Much easier than I thought," said Quentin, puffing quietly at his
cigar.

"We did it very nicely," agreed the other, with a brave effort to
equal the American's unconcern. Nevertheless, he said to himself