"That is, never until this time," suggested Mr. Peasley. "I'm in the same boat. Just landed here to-day. I've heard of it before, on account of the carpet coming from here, and of course everybody knows about Brussels sprouts, but I had no idea it was such a big place. It's bigger than Rock Island and Davenport put together." The Englishman began to move away, at the same time regarding the cheerful Peasley with solemn wonderment. Then he said:-- "My dear sir, I am quite unable to follow you. Where do you think you are?" "Brussels--it's in Belgium--capital, same as Des Moines in Iowa." "My good man, you are not in Brussels. You are in Antwerp." "Antwerp!" "Certainly." "Why, I've been all over town to-day, with a guide book, and----" He paused and a horrible suspicion settled upon him. Arising from the table he rushed to the outer office and confronted the manager. "What's the name of this town I'm in?" he demanded. "Antwerp," replied the astonished manager. Mr. Peasley leaned against the wall and gasped. "Well, I'll be ----!" he began, and then language failed him. "You said you had a brother-in-law in Rotterdam," he said, when he recovered his voice. "That is quite true." "And the Victoria Hotel--is there one in Brussels and another in Antwerp?" "There is a Victoria Hotel in every city in the whole world. The Victoria Hotel is universal--the same as Scotch whiskey." "And I am now in Antwerp?" "Most assuredly." Mr. Peasley went to his room. He did not dare to return to face the Englishman. Next day he proceeded to Brussels and found that he could work from the same guide book just as successfully as he had in Antwerp. When I met him on the steamer he said that during all of his travels since 1895 he never had duplicated the remarkable experience at Antwerp. As soon as he alights from a train he goes right up to someone and asks the name of the town. CHAPTER III WITH MR. PEASLEY IN DARKEST LONDON We did not expect to have Mr. Peasley with us in London. He planned to hurry on to Paris, but he has been waiting here for his trunk to catch up with him. The story of the trunk will come later. As we steamed into Plymouth Harbour on a damp and overcast Sabbath morning, Mr. Peasley stood on the topmost deck and gave encouraging information to a man from central Illinois who was on his first trip abroad. Mr. Peasley had been over for six weeks in 1895, and that gave him license to do the "old traveller" specialty. In beginning a story he would say, "I remember once I was crossing on the _Umbria_," or possibly, "That reminds me of a funny thing I once saw in Munich." He did not practise to deceive, and yet he gave strangers the impression that he had crossed on the _Umbria_ possibly twelve or fourteen times and had spent years in Munich. The Illinois man looked up to Mr. Peasley as a modern Marco Polo, and Mr. Peasley proceeded to unbend to him.