_The Hague,
August._
So you have made a flying trip to Rome, launched a daily paper, and
returned to Monte Catini. For that matter, I, too, have not been idle,
for we have had, since my last letter, a chapter of adventures,
really. You know I was going to take charge of this complicated trip.
Well! Fate was against me. We started off nicely from Baden-Baden, but
hadn’t gone far when a discussion arose with the guard as to where to
change cars. A station official settled that and hustled us into
another train. As we were feeling quite contented and having a good
snooze, we suddenly heard a great rumpus, and found our caboose had
broken down on a bridge. They flagged the Orient express which was
coming behind and hurried us out again into the dark with our bags and
put us aboard, but in the excitement Louisa, the maid, lost her
ticket.
At Strasbourg we had to change cars once more, and being late, we
simply dashed across the station with the guards flying behind and
yelling, “You have only one minute!” It really was awfully comical.
Arriving at Brussels early I had a splendid morning, seeing among
other things the Grande Place with its beautiful old buildings, and
visiting the Gallery Wiertz with all those marvellous but crazy
pictures.
Back to the train again, but alas! our troubles were not at an end.
Checkers stopped to pay the cabby and Aunt and I went into the
station. I was a little ahead with a bag in each hand when suddenly a
perfectly strange man came up and kissed me. I screamed, dropped
everything I was carrying and stared about me, only to see him run
away and look back, laughing. Did you ever hear of anything so saucy?
We got into the car somehow, but Checkers didn’t come and so we went
off without him. Aunt said someone must have cast an evil eye on us.
Such an amusing account as Checkers gave us later of his experience in
Brussels! It seems he had only three francs in his pocket, not enough
for the cab. The driver was furious and couldn’t understand his French
and thought he was trying to cheat him and demanded his arrest. A
sympathetic Englishman offered to “change him a crown,” which,
unfortunately, he didn’t possess. Finally he went to a banker’s and
got things straightened out and came on the next train. It is only
three-thirty now and I am wondering what will happen next. The
excitement can’t keep up much longer. The “Sensation Captain,” as they
now call me, has resigned.
Aunt sends her love but says the only thing she has against you so far
is the fear that she may become a confirmed dipsomaniac through
drinking your health so often. But it is really a silent toast to
Peppi, I think. Of course, if she wants to cherish an absurd
attachment for him it is none of my business, but she makes me just a
little tired!
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