“No, no; I won’t tell her.”

Boyne remained in a silent rapture, and he did not notice they were no longer following the rest of their party in the other carriage.  This had turned down a corner, at which Mr. Breckon, sitting on the front seat, had risen and beckoned their driver to follow, but their driver, who appeared afterwards to have not too much a head of his own, or no head at all, had continued straight on, in the rear of a tram-car, which was slowly finding its way through the momently thickening crowd.  Boyne was first aware that it was a humorous crowd when, at a turn of the street, their equipage was greeted with ironical cheers by a group of gay young Dutchmen on the sidewalk.  Then he saw that the sidewalks were packed with people, who spread into the street almost to the tram, and that the house fronts were dotted with smiling Dutch faces, the faces of pretty Dutch girls, who seemed to share the amusement of the young fellows below.

Trannel lay back in the carriage.  “This is something like,” he said.  “Boyne, they’re on to the distinguished young Ohioan—­the only Ohioan out of office in Europe.”

“Yes,” said Boyne, trying to enjoy it.  “I wonder what they are holloing at.”

Trannel laughed.  “They’re holloing at your Baedeker, my dear boy.  They never saw one before,” and Boyne was aware that he was holding his red-backed guide conspicuously in view on his lap.  “They know you’re a foreigner by it.”

“Don’t you think we ought to turn down somewhere?  I don’t see poppa anywhere.”  He rose and looked anxiously back over the top of their carriage.  The crowd, closing in behind it, hailed his troubled face with cries that were taken up by the throng on the sidewalks.  Boyne turned about to find that the tram-car which they had been following had disappeared round a corner, but their driver was still keeping on.  At a wilder burst of applause Trannel took off his hat and bowed to the crowd, right and left.

“Bow, bow!” he said to Boyne.  “They’ll be calling for a speech the next thing.  Bow, I tell you!”

“Tell him to turn round!” cried the boy.

“I can’t speak Dutch,” said Trannel, and Boyne leaned forward and poked the driver in the back.

“Go back!” he commanded.

The driver shook his head and pointed forward with his whip.  “He’s all right,” said Trannel.  “He can’t turn now.  We’ve got to take the next corner.”  The street in front was empty, and the people were crowding back on the sidewalks.  Loud, vague noises made themselves heard round the corner to which the driver had pointed.  “By Jove!” Trannel said, “I believe they’re coming round that way.”

“Who are coming?” Boyne palpitated.

“The queens.”

“The queens?” Boyne gasped; it seemed to him that he shrieked the words.

“Yes.  And there’s a tobacconist’s now,” said Trannel, as if that were what he had been looking for all along.  “I want some cigarettes.”