IT is only with the
politest affectation of interest, as a rule, that English Society learns the
arrival in its midst of an ordinary Continental nobleman; but the announcement
that the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg had been appointed attaché to the German
embassy at the Court of St. James was unquestionably received with a certain
flutter of excitement. That his estates were as vast as an average English
county, and his ancestry among the noblest in Europe, would not alone perhaps
have arrested the attention of the paragraphists, since acres and forefathers
of foreign extraction are rightly regarded as conferring at the most a claim
merely to toleration. But in addition to these he possessed a charming English
wife, belonging to one of the most distinguished families in the peerage (the
Grillyers of Monkton-Grillyer), and had further demonstrated his judgment by
purchasing the winner of the last year's Derby, with a view to improving the
horse- flesh of his native land.
From a footnote
attached to the engraving of the Baron in a Homburg hat holding the head of the
steed in question, which formed the principal attraction in several
print-sellers' windows in Piccadilly, one gathered that though his faculties
had been cultivated and exercised in every conceivable direction, yet this was
his first serious entrance into the diplomatic world. There was clearly,
therefore, something unusual about the appointment; so that it was rumored, and
rightly, that an international importance was to be attached to the incident,
and a delicate compliment to be perceived in the selection of so popular a link
between the Anglo-Saxon and the Teutonic peoples. Accordingly "Die Wacht
am Rhein" was played by the Guards' band down the entire length of Ebury
Street, photographs of the Baroness appeared in all the leading periodicals,
and Society, after its own less demonstrative but equally sincere fashion,
prepared to welcome the distinguished visitors.
They arrived in town
upon a delightful day in July, somewhat late in the London season, to be sure,
yet not too late to be inundated with a snowstorm of cards and invitations to
all the smartest functions that remained. For the first few weeks, at least,
you would suppose the Baron to have no time for thought beyond official
receptions and unofficial dinners; yet as he looked from his drawing-room
windows into the gardens of Belgrave Square upon the second afternoon since
they had settled into this great mansion, it was not upon such functions that
his fancy ran. Nobody was more fond of gaiety, nobody more appreciative of
purple and fine linen, than the Baron von Blitzenberg; but as he mused there he
began to recall more and more vividly, and with an ever rising pleasure, quite
different memories of life in London. Then by easy stages regret began to cloud
this reminiscent satisfaction, until at last he sighed --
"Ach, my dear
London! How moch should I enjoy you if I were free!"
For the benefit of
those who do not know the Baron either personally or by repute, he may briefly
be described as an admirably typical Teuton. When he first visited England
(some five years previously) he stood for Bavarian manhood in the flower; now,
you behold the fruit. As magnificently mustached, as ruddy of skin, his eye as
genial, and his impulses as hearty; he added to-day to these two more stone of
Teutonic excellences incarnate.
In his ingenuous
glance, as in the more rounded contour of his waistcoat, you could see at once
that fate had dealt kindly with him. Indeed, to hear him sigh was so unwonted
an occurrence that the Baroness looked up with an air of mild surprise.
"My dear
Rudolph," said she, "you should really open the window. You are
evidently feeling the heat."
"No, not ze
heat," replied the Baron.
He did not turn his
head towards her, and she looked at him more anxiously.
"What is it, then?
I have noticed a something strange about you ever since we landed at Dover.
Tell me, Rudolph!"
Thus adjured, he cast a
troubled glance in her direction. He saw a face whose mild blue eyes and undetermined
mouth he still swore by as the standard by which to try all her inferior
sisters, and a figure whose growing embonpoint yearly approached the outline of
his ideal hausfrau. But it was either St. Anthony or one of his fellow-martyrs
who observed that an occasional holiday from the ideal is the condiment in the
sauce of sanctity; and some such reflection perturbed the Baron at this moment.
"It is nozing
moch," he answered.
"Oh, I know what
it is. You have grown so accustomed to seeing the same people, year after year
-- the Von Greifners, and Rosenbaums, and all those. You miss them, don't you?
Personally, I think it a very good thing that you should go abroad and be a
diplomatist, and not stay in Fogelschloss so much; and you'll soon make loads of
friends here. Mother comes to us next week, you know."
"Your mozzer is a
nice old lady," said the Baron slowly. "I respect her, Alicia; bot it
vas not mozzers zat I missed just now."
"What was
it?"
"Life!"
roared the Baron, with a sudden outburst of thundering enthusiasm that startled
the Baroness completely out of her composure. "I did have fun for my money
vunce in London. Himmel, it is too hot to eat great dinners and to vear clothes
like a monkey-jack."
"Like a
what?" gasped the Baroness.
To hear the Baron von
Blitzenberg decry the paraphernalia and splendors of his official liveries was
even more astonishing than his remarkable denunciation of the pleasures of the
table, since to dress as well as play the part of hereditary grandee had been till
this minute his constant and enthusiastic ambition.
"A meat-jack, I
mean -- or a -- I know not vat you call it. Ach, I vant a leetle fun,
Alicia."
"A little
fun," repeated the Baroness in a breathless voice. "What kind of
fun?"
"I know not,"
said he, turning once more to stare out of the window.
To this dignified
representative of a particularly dignified State even the trees of Belgrave
Square seemed at that moment a trifle too conventionally perpendicular. If they
would but dance and wave their boughs he would have greeted their greenness
more gladly. A good-looking nursemaid wheeled a perambulator beneath their
shade, and though she never looked his way, he took a wicked pleasure in
surreptitiously closing first one eye and then the other in her direction. This
might not entirely satisfy the aspirations of his soul, yet it seemed to serve
as some vent for his pent-up spirit. He turned to his spouse with a pleasantly
meditative air.
"I should like to
see old Bonker vunce more," he observed.
"Bunker? You mean
Mr. Mandell-Essington?" said she, with an apprehensive note in her voice.
"To me he vill
alvays be Bonker."
The Baroness looked at
him reproachfully.
"You promised me,
Rudolph, you would see as little as possible of Mr. Essington."
"Oh, ja, as leetle
-- as possible," answered the Baron, though not with his most ingenuous
air. "Besides, it is tree years since I promised. For tree years I have
seen nozing. My love Alicia, you vould not have me forget mine friends altogezzer?"
But the Baroness had
too vivid a recollection of their last (and only) visit to England since their
marriage. By a curious coincidence that also was three years ago.
"When you last met
you remember what happened?" she asked, with an ominous hint of emotion in
her accents .
"My love, how
often have I eggsplained? Zat night you mean, I did schleep in mine hat because
I had got a cold in my head. I vas not dronk, no more zan you. Vat you found in
my pocket vas a mere joke, and ze cabman who called next day vas jost vat I
told him to his ogly face -- a blackmail."
"You gave him
money to go away."
"A Blitzenberg
does not bargain mit cabmen," said the Baron loftily.
His wife's spirits
began to revive. There seemed to speak the owner of Fogelschloss, the haughty
magnate of Bavaria.
"You have too much
self-respect to wish to find yourself in such a position again," she said.
"I know you have, Rudolph!"
The Baron was silent.
This appeal met with distinctly less response than she confidently counted
upon. In a graver note she inquired --
"You know what
mother thinks of Mr. Essington?"
"Your mozzer is a
vise old lady, Alicia; but we do not zink ze same on all opinions."
"She will be
exceedingly displeased if you -- well, if you do anything that she thoroughly
disapproves of."
The Baron left the
window and took his wife's plump hand affectionately within his own broad palm.
"You can assure
her, my love, zat I shall never do vat she dislikes. You vill say zat to her if
she inquires?"
"Can I,
truthfully?"
"Ach, my own
dear!"
From his enfolding arms
she whispered tenderly --
"Of course I will,
Rudolph!"
With a final hug the
embrace abruptly ended, and the Baron hastily glanced at his watch.
"Ach, nearly had I
forgot! I must go to ze club for half an hour."
"Must you?"
"To meet a
friend."
"What
friend?" asked the Baroness quickly.
"A man whose name
you vould know vell -- oh, vary vell known he is! But in diplomacy, mine Alicia,
a quiet meeting in a club is sometimes better not to be advertised too moch.
Great wars have come from one vord of indiscretion. You know ze axiom of
Bismarck -- `In diplomacy it is necessary for a diplomatist to be diplomatic.'
Good-by, my love."
He bowed as profoundly
as if she were a reigning sovereign, blew an affectionate kiss as he went
through the door, and then descended the stairs with a rapidity that argued
either that his appointment was urgent or that diplomacy shrank from a further
test within this mansion.
FOR the last year or
two the name of Rudolph von Blitzenberg had appeared in the members' list of
that most exclusive of institutions, the Regent's Club, Pall Mall; and it was
thither he drove on this fine afternoon of July. At no resort in London were
more famous personages to be found, diplomatic and otherwise, and nothing would
have been more natural than a meeting between the Baron and a European
celebrity beneath its roof; so that if you had seen him bounding impetuously up
the steps, and noted the eagerness with which he inquired whether a gentleman
had called for him, you would have had considerable excuse for supposing his
appointment to be with a dignitary of the highest importance.
"Goot!" he
cried on learning that a stranger was indeed waiting for him. His face beamed
with anticipatory joy. Aha! he was not to be disappointed.
"Vill he be jost
the same?" he wondered. "Ah, if he is changed I shall veep!"
He rushed into the
smoking-room, and there, instead of any bald notability or spectacled
statesman, there advanced to meet him a merely private English gentleman,
tolerably young, undeniably good-looking, and graced with the most debonair of
smiles.
"My dear
Bonker!" cried the Baron, crimsoning with joy. "Ach, how pleased I
am!"
"Baron!"
replied his visitor gaily. "You cannot deceive me -- that waistcoat was
made in Germany! Let me lead you to a respectable tailor!"
Yet, despite his
bantering tone, it was easy to see that he took an equal pleasure in the meeting.
"Ha, ha!"
laughed the Baron, "vot a fonny zing to say! Droll as ever, eh?"
"Five years less
droll than when we first. met," said the late Bunker and present
Essington. "You meet a dullish dog, Baron -- a sobered reveller."
"Ach, no! Not
surely? Do not disappoint me, dear Bonker!"
The Baron's plaintive
note seemed to amuse his friend.
"You don't mean to
say you actually wish a boon companion? You, Baron, the modern Talleyrand, the
repository of three emperors' secrets? My dear fellow, I nearly came in deep
mourning."
"Mourning! For
vat?"
"For our lamented
past: I supposed you would have the air of a Nonconformist beadle."
"My friend!"
said the Baron eagerly, and yet with a lowering of his voice, "I vould not
like to engage a beadle mit jost ze same feelings as me. Come here to zis
corner and let us talk! Vaiter! whisky -- soda -- cigars -- all for two. Come,
Bonker!"
Stretched in
arm-chairs, in a quiet corner of the room, the two surveyed one another with
affectionate and humorous interest. For three years they had not seen one
another at all, and save once they had not met for five. In five years a man
may change his religion or lose his hair, inherit a principality or part with a
reputation, grow a beard or turn teetotaler. Nothing so fundamental had
happened to either of our friends. The Baron's fullness of contour we have
already noticed; in Mandell- Essington, ex Bunker, was to be seen even less
evidence of the march of time. But years, like wheels upon a road, can hardly
pass without leaving in their wake some faint impress, however fair the
weather, and perhaps his hair lay a fraction of an inch higher up the temple,
and in the corners of his eyes a hint might even be discerned of those little
wrinkles that register the smiles and frowns. Otherwise he was the same
distinguished-looking, immaculately dressed, supremely self-possessed, and
charming Francis Bunker, whom the Baron's memory stored among its choicer
possessions.
"Tell me,"
demanded the Baron, "vat you are doing mit yourself, mine Bonker."
"Doing?" said
Essington, lighting his cigar. "Well, my dear Baron, I am endeavoring to
live as I imagine a gentleman should."
"And how is
zat?"
"Riding a little,
shooting a little, and occasionally telling the truth. At other times I cock a
wise eye at my modest patrimony, now and then I deliver a lecture with
magic-lantern slides; and when I come up to town I sometimes watch
cricket-matches. A devilish invigorating programme, isn't it?"
"Ha, ha!"
laughed the Baron again; he had come prepared to laugh, and carried out his
intention religiously. "But you do not feel more old and sober, eh?"
"I don't want to,
but no man can avoid his destiny. The natives of this island are a serious
people, or if they are frivolous, it is generally a trifle vulgarly done. The
diversions of the professedly gay-hooting over pointless badinage and
speculating whose turn it is to get divorced next -- become in time even more
sobering than a scientific study with diagrams of how to breed pheasants or play
golf. If some one would teach us the simple art of being light-hearted he would
deserve to be placed along with Nelson on his monument."
"Oh, my dear
vellow!" cried the Baron. "Do I hear zese kind of vords from
you?"
"If you starved a
city-full of people, wouldn't you expect to hear the man with the biggest
appetite cry loudest?"
The Baron's face fell
further and Essington laughed aloud.
"Come, Baron, hang
it! You of all people should be delighted to see me a fellow-member of
respectable society. I take you to be the type of the conventional aristocrat.
Why, a fellow who's been travelling in Germany said to me lately, when I asked
about you -- `Von Blitzenberg,' said he, `he's used as a simile for traditional
dignity. His very dogs have to sit up on their hind-legs when he inspects the
kennels!' "
The Baron with a solemn
face gulped down his whisky-and-soda.
"Zat is not true
about my dogs," he replied, "but I do confess my life is vary
dignified. So moch is expected of a Blitzenberg. Oh, ja, zere is moch state and
ceremony."
"And you seem to
thrive on it."
"Vell, it does not
destroy ze appetite," the Baron admitted; "and it is my duty so to
live at Fogelschloss, and I alvays vish to do my duty. But, ach, sometimes I do
vant to kick ze trace!"
"You mean you
would want to if it were not for the Baroness?"
Bunker smiled
whimsically; but his friend continued as simply serious as ever.
"Alicia is ze most
divine woman in ze world -- I respect her, Bonker, I love her, I gonsider her
my better angel; but even in Heaven, I suppose, peoples sometimes vould enjoy a
stroll in Piccadeelly, or in some vay to exercise ze legs and shout mit
excitement. No doubt you zink it unaccountable and strange -- pairhaps
ungrateful of me, eh?"
"On the contrary,
I feel as I should if I feared this cigar had gone out and then found it alight
after all."
"You say so! Ah,
zen I will have more boldness to confess my heart! Bonker, ven I did land in
England ze leetle thought zat vould rise vas -- `Ze land of freedom vunce
again! Here shall I not have to be alvays ze Baron von Blitzenberg, oldest
noble in Bavaria, hereditary carpet-beater to ze Court! I vill disguise and go
mit old Bonker for a frolic!' "
"You touch my
tenderest chord, Baron!"
"Goot, goot, my
friend!" cried the Baron, warming to his work of confession like a
penitent whose absolution is promised in advance; "you speak ze vords I
love to hear! Of course I vould not be vicked, and I vould not disgrace myself;
but I do need a leetle exercise. Is it possible?"
Essington sprang up and
enthusiastically shook his hand.
"Dear Baron, you
come like a ray of sunshine through a London fog -- like a moulin rouge
alighting in Carlton House Terrace! I thought my own leaves were yellowing; I
now perceive that was only an autumnal change. Spring has returned, and I feel
like a green bay tree!"
"Hoch, hoch!"
roared the Baron, to the great surprise of two Cabinet Ministers and a Bishop
who were taking tea at the other side of the room. "Vat shall ve do to
show zere is no sick feeling?"
"H'm,"
reflected Essington, with a comical look. "There's a lot of scaffolding at
the bottom of St. James's Street. Should we have it down to-night? Or what do
you say to a packet of dynamite in the two- penny tube?"
The Baron sobered down
a trifle.
"Ach, not so fast,
not qvite so fast, dear Bonker. Remember I must not get into troble at ze
embassy."
"My dear fellow,
that's your pull. Foreign diplomatists are police-proof!"
"Ah, but my
wife!"
"One stormy hour
-- then tears and forgiveness!"
The Baron lowered his
voice.
"Her mozzer vill
visit us next veek. I loff and respect Lady Grillyer; but I should not like to
have to ask her for forgiveness."
"Yes, she has
rather an uncompromising nose, so far as I remember."
"It is a kind nose
to her friends, Bonker," the Baron explained, "but severe towards
---- "
"Myself, for
instance," laughed Essington. "Well, what do you suggest?"
"First, zat you
dine mit me to-night. No, I vill take no refusal! Listen! I am now meeting a
distinguished person on important international business -- do you pairceive?
Ha, ha, ha! To-night it vill be necessary ve most dine togezzer. I have an engagement,
but he can be put off for soch a great person as the man I am now meeting at ze
club! You vill gom?"
"I should have
been delighted -- only unluckily I have a man dining with me. I tell you what!
You come and join us! Will you?"
"If zat is ze only
vay -- yes, mit pleasure! Who is ze man?"
"Young
Tulliwuddle. Do you remember going to a dance at Lord Tulliwuddle's, some five
and a half years ago?"
"Himmel! Ha, ha!
Vell do I remember!"
"Well, our host of
that evening died the other day, and this fellow is his heir -- a second or
third cousin whose existence was so displeasing to the old peer that he left
him absolutely nothing that wasn't entailed, and never said `How-do-you-do?' to
him in his life. In consequence, he may not entertain you as much as I should
like."
"If he is your
friend, I shall moch enjoy his society!"
"I am flattered,
but hardly convinced. Tulliwuddle's intellect is scarcely of the sparkling
kind. However, come and try."
The hour, the place,
were arranged; a reminiscence or two exchanged; fresh suggestions thrown out
for the rejuvenation of a Bavarian magnate; another baronial laugh shook the
foundations of the club; and then, as the afternoon was wearing on, the Baron
hailed a cab and galloped for Belgrave Square, and the late Mr. Bunker
sauntered off along Pall Mall.
"Who can despair
of human nature while the Baron von Blitzenberg adorns the earth?" he
reflected. "The discovery of champagne and the invention of summer
holidays were minor events compared with his descent from Olympus!"
He bought a button-hole
at the street corner and cocked his hat, more airily than ever.
"A volcanic
eruption may inspire one to succor humanity, a wedding to condole with it, and
a general election to warn it of its folly; but the Baron inspires one to
amuse!"
Meanwhile that
Heaven-sent nobleman, with a manner enshrouded in mystery, was comforting his
wife.
"Ah, do not
grieve, mine Alicia! No doubt ze Duke vill be disappointed not to see us
to-night, but I have telegraphed. Ja, I have said I had so important an affair.
Ach, do not veep! I did not know you wanted so moch to dine mit ze old Duke. I
sopposed you vould like a quiet evening at home. But anyhow I have now
telegraphed -- and my leetle dinner mit my friend -- Ach, it is so important
zat I most rosh and get dressed. Cheer up, my loff! Good-by!"
He paused in answer to
a tearful question.
"His name? Alas, I
have promised not to say. You vould not have a European war by my
indiscretion?"
WITH mirrors reflecting
a myriad lights, with the hum of voices, the rustle of satin and lace, the
hurrying steps of waiters, the bubbling of laughter, of life, and of wine --
all these on each side of them, and a plate, a foaming glass, and a friend in
front, the Baron and his host smiled radiantly down upon less favored mortals.
"Tulliwuddle is
very late," said Essington; "but he's a devilish casual gentleman in
all matters."
"I am selfish
enoff to hope he vill not gom at all!" exclaimed the Baron.
"Unfortunately he
has had the doubtful taste to conceive a curiously high opinion of myself. I am
afraid he won't desert us. But I don't propose that we shall suffer for his
slackness. Bring the fish, waiter."
The Baron was happy;
and that is to say that his laughter re-echoed from the shining mirrors, his
tongue was loosed, his heart expanded, his glass seemed ever empty.
"Ach, how to make
zis joie de vivre to last beyond to- night!" he cried. "May ze Teufel
fly off mit of offeecial duties and receptions and -- and even mit my vife for
a few days."
"My dear
Baron!"
"To Alicia!"
cried the Baron hastily, draining his glass at the toast. "But some fun
first!"
" `I could not love thee, dear, so well, Loved I not humor more!'
" misquoted his host gaily.
"Ah!" he added, "here comes Tulliwuddle."
A young man, with his
hands in his pockets and an eyeglass in his eye, strolled up to their table.
"I'm beastly sorry
for being so late," said he; "but I'm hanged if I could make up my
mind whether to risk wearing one of these frilled shirt-fronts. It's not bad, I
think, with one's tie tied this way. What do you say?"
"It suits you like
a halo," Essington assured him. "But let me introduce you to my
friend the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg."
Lord Tulliwuddle bowed
politely and took the empty chair; but it was evident that his attention could
not concentrate itself upon sublunary matters till the shirt- front had been
critically inspected and appreciatively praised by his host. Indeed, it was
quite clear that Essington had not exaggerated his regard for himself. This
admiration was perhaps the most pleasing feature to be noted on a brief
acquaintance with his lordship. He was obviously intended neither for a strong
man of action nor a great man of thought. A tolerable appearance and
considerable amiability he might no doubt claim; but unfortunately the effort
to retain his eye- glass had apparently the effect of forcing his mouth
chronically open, which somewhat marred his appearance; while his natural
good-humor lapsed too frequently into the lamentations of an idle man that
Providence neglected him or that his creditors were too attentive.
It happens, however,
that it is rather his circumstances than his person which concern this history.
And, briefly, these were something in this sort. Born a poor relation and
guided by no strong hand, he had gradually seen himself, as Reverend uncles and
Right Honorable cousins died of, approach nearer and nearer to the ancient
barony of Tulliwuddle (created 1475 in the peerage of Scotland), until this
year he had actually succeeded to it. But after his first delight in this piece
of good fortune had subsided he began to realize in himself two notable
deficiencies very clearly, the lack of money, and more vaguely, the want of any
preparation for filling the shoes of a stately courtier and famous Highland
chieftain. He would often, and with considerable feeling, declare that any
ordinary peer he could easily have become, but that being old Tulliwuddle's
heir, by Gad! he didn't half like the job.
At present he was being
tolerated or befriended by a small circle of acquaintances, and rapidly
becoming a familiar figure to three or four tailors and half a dozen
door-keepers at the stage entrances to divers Metropolitan theatres. In the
circle of acquaintances, the humorous sagacity of Essington struck him as the
most astonishing thing he had ever known. He felt, in fact, much like a village
youth watching his first conjuring performance, and while the whim lasted (a
period which Essington put down as probably six weeks) he would have gone the
length of paying a bill or ordering a tie on his recommendation alone.
To-night the
distinguished appearance and genial conversation of Essington's friend
impressed him more than ever with the advantages of knowing so remarkable a
personage. A second bottle succeeded the first, and a third the second, the
cordiality of the dinner growing all the while, till at last his lordship had
laid aside the last traces of his national suspicion of even the most charming
strangers.
"I say,
Essington," he said, "I had meant to tell you about a devilish
delicate dilemma I'm in. I want your advice."
"You have it,
interrupted his host. "Give her a five-pound note, see that she burns your
letters, and introduce her to another fellow."
"But -- er -- that
wasn't the thing ---- "
"Tell him you'll
pay in six months, and order another pair of trousers," said Essington,
briskly as ever.
"But, I say, it
wasn't that ---- "
"My dear
Tulliwuddle, I never give racing tips."
"Hang it!"
"What is the
matter?"
Tulliwuddle glanced at
the Baron.
"I don't know
whether the Baron would be interested ---- "
"Immensely, my
goot Tollyvoddle! Supremely! hugely! I could be interested to-night in a
museum!"
"The Baron's past
life makes him a peculiarly catholic judge of indiscretions," said
Essington.
Thus reassured,
Tulliwuddle began --
"You know I've an
aunt who takes an interest in me -- wants me to collar an heiress and that sort
of thing. Well, she has more or less arranged a marriage for me."
"Fill your
glasses, gentlemen!" cried Essington.
"Hoch, hoch!"
roared the Baron.
"But, I say, wait
a minute! That's only the beginning. I don't know the girl -- and she doesn't
know me."
He said the last words
in a peculiarly significant tone.
"Do you wish me to
introduce you?"
"Oh, hang it! Be
serious, Essington. The point is -- will she marry me if she does know
me?"
"Himmel! Yes,
certainly!" cried the Baron.
"Who is she?"
asked their host, more seriously.
"Her father is
Darius P. Maddison, the American Silver King."
The other two could not
withhold an exclamation.
"He has only two
children, a son and a daughter, and he wants to marry his daughter to an
English peer -- or a Scotch, it's all the same. My aunt knows 'em pretty well,
and she has recommended me."
"An excellent
selection," commented his host.
"But the trouble
is, they want rather a high-class peer. Old Maddison is deuced particular, and
I believe the girl is even worse."
"What are the
qualifications desired?"
"Oh, he's got to
be ambitious, and a promising young man -- and elevated tastes -- and all that
kind of nonsense."
"But you can be
all zat if you try!" said the Baron eagerly. "Go to Germany and get
trained. I did vork twelve hours a day for ten years to be vat I am."
"I'm
different," replied the young peer gloomily. "Nobody ever trained me.
Old Tulliwuddle might have taken me up if he had liked, but he was prejudiced
against me. I can't become all those things now."
"And yet you do
want to marry the lady?"
"My dear
Essington, I can't afford to lose such a chance! One doesn't get a Miss Maddison
every day. She's a deuced handsome girl too, they say."
"By Gad, it's
worth a trip across the Atlantic to try your luck," said Essington.
"Get 'em to guarantee your expenses and you'll at least learn to play
poker and see Niagara for nothing."
"They aren't in
America. They've got a salmon river in Scotland, and they are there now. It's
not far from my place, Hechnahoul."
"She's practically
in your arms, then?"
"Ach. Ze affair is
easy!"
"Pipe up the clan
and abduct her!"
"Approach her mit
a kilt!"
But even those
optimistic exhortations left the peer still melancholy.
"It sounds all
very well," said he, "but my clansmen, as you call 'em, would expect
such a devil of a lot from me too. Old Tulliwuddle spoiled them for any
ordinary mortal. He went about looking like an advertisement for whisky, and
called 'em all by their beastly Gaelic names. I have never been in Scotland in
my life, and I can't do that sort of thing. I'd merely make a fool of myself.
If I'd had to go to America it wouldn't have been so bad."
At this weak-kneed
confession the Baron could hardly withhold an exclamation of contempt, but
Essington, with more sympathy, inquired --
"What do you
propose to do, then?"
His lordship emptied
his glass.
"I wish I had your
brains and your way of carrying things off, Essington!" he said, with a
sigh. "If you got a chance of showing yourself off to Miss Maddison she'd
jump at you!"
A gleam, inspired and
humorous, leaped into Essington's eyes. The Baron, whose glance happened at the
moment to fall on him, bounded gleefully from his seat.
"Hoch!" he
cried, "it is mine old Bonker zat I see before me! Vat have you in your
mind?"
"Sit down, my dear
Baron; that lady over there thinks you are preparing to attack her. Shall we
smoke? Try these cigars."
Throwing the Baron a
shrewd glance to calm his somewhat alarming exhilaration, their host turned
with a graver air to his other guest.
"Tulliwuddle,"
said he, "I should like to help you."
"I wish to the
deuce you could!"
Essington bent over the
table confidentially.
"I have an
idea."
THE three heads bent
forward towards a common centre -- the Baron agog with suppressed excitement,
Tulliwuddle revived with curiosity and a gleam of hope, Essington impressive
and cool.
"I take it,"
he began, "that if Mr. Darius P. Maddison and his coveted daughter could
see a little of Lord Tulliwuddle -- meet him at lunch, talk to him afterwards,
for instance -- and carry away a favorable impression of the nobleman, there
would not be much difficulty in subsequently arranging a marriage?"
"Oh, none,"
said Tulliwuddle. "They'd be only too keen, if they approved of me; but
that's the rub, you know."
"So far so good.
Now it appears to me that our modest friend here somewhat underrates his own
powers of fascination"
"Ach, Tollyvoddle,
you do indeed," interjected the Baron.
"But since this
idea is so firmly established in his mind that it may actually prevent him from
displaying himself to the greatest advantage, and since he has been good enough
to declare that he would regard with complete confidence my own chances of
success were I in his place, I would propose -- with all becoming diffidence --
that I should interview the lady and her parent instead of him."
"A vary vise idea,
Bonker," observed the Baron.
"What!" said
Tulliwuddle. "Do you mean that you would go and crack me up, and that sort
of thing?"
"No; I mean that I
should enjoy a temporary loan of your name and of your residence, and assure
them by a personal inspection that I have a sufficient assortment of virtues
for their requirements."
"Splendid!"
shouted the Baron. "Tollyvoddle, accept zis generous offer before it is
too late!"
"But," gasped
the diffident nobleman, "they would find out the next time they saw
me."
"If the business
is properly arranged, that would only be when you came out of church with her.
Look here -- what fault have you to find with this scheme? I produce the
desired impression, and either propose at once and am accepted ---- "
"H'm,"
muttered Tulliwuddle doubtfully.
"Or I leave things
in such good train that you can propose and get accepted afterwards by
letter."
"That's
better," said Tulliwuddle.
"Then, by a little
exercise of our wits, you find an excuse for hurrying on the marriage -- have
it a private affair for family reasons, and so on. You will be prevented by one
excuse or another from meeting the lady till the wedding-day. We shall choose a
darkish church, you will have a plaster on your face -- and the deed is
done!"
"Not a fault can I
find," commented the Baron sagely. "Essington, I congratulate
you."
Between his complete
confidence in Essington and the Baron's unqualified commendation, Lord
Tulliwuddle was carried away by the project.
"I say, Essington,
what a good fellow you are!" he cried. "You really think it will
work?"
"What do you say,
Baron?"
"It cannot fail, I
do solemnly assure you. Be thankful you have soch a friend, Tollyvoddle!"
"You don't think
anybody will suspect that you aren't really me?"
"Does any one up
at Hechnahoul know you?"
"No."
"And no one there
knows me. They will never suspect for an instant."
His lordship assumed a
look that would have been serious, almost impressive, had he first removed his
eye- glass. Evidently some weighty consideration had occurred to him.
"You are an
awfully clever chap, Essington," he said, "and deuced superior to
most fellows, and -- er -- all that kind of thing. But -- well -- you don't
mind my saying it?"
"My morals? My
appearance? Say anything you like, my dear fellow."
"It's only this,
that noblesse oblige, and that kind of thing, you know."
"I am afraid I don't
quite follow."
"Well, I mean that
you aren't a nobleman, and do you think you could carry things off like a -- ah
-- like a Tulliwuddle?"
Essington remained
entirely serious.
"I shall have at
my elbow an adviser whose knowledge of the highest society in Europe is,
without exaggeration, unequalled. Your perfectly natural doubts will be laid at
rest when I tell you that I hope to be accompanied by the Baron Rudolph von
Blitzenberg."
The Baron could no
longer contain himself.
"Himmel! Hurray!
My dear friend, I vill go mit you to hell!"
"That's very good
of you," said Essington, "but you mistake my present destination. I
merely wish your company as far as the Castle of Hechnahoul."
"I gom mit so moch
pleasure zat I cannot eggspress! Tollyvoddle, be no longer afraid. I have
helped to write a book on ze noble families of Germany -- zat is to say, I have
contributed my portrait and some anecdote. Our dear friend shall make no
mistakes!"
By this guarantee Lord
Tulliwuddle's last doubts were completely set at rest. His spirits rose as he
perceived how happily this easy avenue would lead him out of all his troubles.
He insisted on calling for wine and pledging success to the adventure with the
most resolute and confident air, and nothing but a few details remained now to
be settled. These were chiefly with regard to the precise limits up to which
the duplicate Lord Tulliwuddle might advance his conquering arms.
"You won't
formally propose, will you?" said the first edition of that peer.
"Certainly not, if
you prefer to negotiate the surrender yourself," the later impression
assured him.
"And you mustn't
-- well -- er ---- "
"I shall touch
nothing."
"A girl might get
carried away by you," said the original peer a trifle doubtfully.
"The Baron is the
most scrupulous of men. He will be by my side almost continually. Baron, you
will act as my judge, my censor, and my chaperon?"
"Tollyvoddle, I
swear to you zat I shall use an eye like ze eagle. He shall be so careful --
ach, I shall see to it! Myself, I am a Bayard mit ze ladies, and Bonker he
shall not be less so!"
"Thanks, Baron,
thanks awfully," said his lordship. "Now my mind is quite at
rest!"
In the vestibule of the
restaurant they bade good- night to the confiding nobleman, and then turned to
one another with an adventurer's smile.
"You are sure you
can leave your diplomatic duties?" asked Essington.
"Zey vill be my
diplomatic duties zat I go to do! Oh, I shall prepare a leetle story -- do not
fear me."
The Baron chuckled, and
then burst forth
"Never was zere a
man like you. Oh, cunning Mistair Bonker! And you vill give me zomezing to do
in ze adventure, eh?"
"I promise you
that, Baron."
As he gave this
reassuring pledge, a peculiar smile stole over Mr. Bunker's face -- a smile
that seemed to suggest even happier possibilities than either of his
distinguished friends contemplated.
IT is at all times
pleasant to contemplate thorough workmanship and sagacious foresight,
particularly when these are allied with disinterested purpose and genuine
enthusiasm. For the next few days Mr. Bunker, preparing to carry out to the
best of his ability the delicate commission with which he had been entrusted,
presented this stimulating spectacle.
Absolutely no pains
were left untaken. By the aid of some volumes lent him by Tulliwuddle he
learned, and digested in a pocketbook, as much information as he thought
necessary to acquire concerning the history of the noble family he was
temporarily about to enter; together with notes of their slogan or war-cry
(spelled phonetically to avoid the possibility of a mistake), of their acreage,
gross and net rentals, the names of their land-agents, and many other matters
equally to the point. It was further to be observed that he spared no pains to
imprint these particulars in the Baron's Teutonic memory -- whether to support
his own in case of need, or for some more secret purpose, it were impossible to
fathom. Disguised as unconspicuous and harmless persons, they would meet in
many quiet haunts whose unsuspected excellences they could guarantee from their
old experience, and there mature their philanthropic plan.
Not only had its
talented originator to impress the Tulliwuddle annals and statistics into his
ally's eager mind, but he had to exercise the nicest tact and discernment lest
the Baron's excess of zeal should trip their enterprise at the very outset.
"To-day I have
told Alicia zat my visit to Russia vill probably be vollowed by a visit to ze
Emperor of China," the Baron would recount with vast pride in his
inventive powers. "And I have dropped a leetle hint zat for an envoy to be
imprisoned in China is not to be surprised. Zat vill prepare her in case I am
avay longer zan ve expect."
"And how did she
take that intimation?" asked Essington, with a less congratulatory air
than he had expected.
"I did leave her
in tears."
"My dear Baron,
fly to her to tell her you are not going to China! She will get so devilish
alarmed if you are gone a week that she'll go straight to the embassy and make
inquiries."
He shook his head, and
added in an impressive voice --
"Never lie for
lying's sake, Blitzenberg. Besides, how do you propose to forge a Chinese
post-mark?"
The Baron had laid the
foundations of his Russian trip on a sound basis by requesting a friend of his
in that country to post to the Baroness the bi-weekly budgets of Muscovite
gossip which he intended to compose at Hechnahoul. This, it seemed to him,
would be a simple feat, particularly with his friend Bunker to assist; but he
had to confess that the provision of Chinese news would certainly be more
difficult.
"Ach, vell, I
shall contradict China," he agreed.
It will be readily
believed that what with getting up his brief, pruning the legends with which
the Baron proposed to satisfy his wife and his ambassador, and purchasing an
outfit suitable to the rôles of peer and chieftain, this indefatigable
gentleman passed three or four extremely busy days.
"Ve most start
before my dear mozzer-in-law does gom!" the Baron more than once impressed
upon him, so that there was no moment to be wasted.
Two days before their
departure Mr. Bunker greeted his ally with a peculiarly humorous smile.
"The pleasures of
our visit to Hechnahoul are to be considerably augmented," said he.
"Tulliwuddle has only just made the discovery that his ancestral castle is
let; but his tenant, in the most handsome spirit, invites us to be his guests
so long as we are in Scotland. A very hospitable letter, isn't it?"
He handed him a large
envelope with a more than proportionately large crest upon it, and drawing from
this a sheet of note-paper headed by a second crest, the Baron read this
epistle:
"MY LORD, --
Learning that you propose visiting your Scottish estates, and Mr. M'Fadyen,
your factor, informing me no lodge is at present available for your reception,
it will give Mrs. Gallosh and myself great pleasure, and we will esteem it a
distinguished honor, if you and your friend will be our guests at Hechnahoul
Castle during the duration of your visit. Should you do us the honor of
accepting, I shall send my steam launch to meet you at Torrydhulish pier and
convey you across the loch, if you will be kind enough to advise me which train
you are coming by.
"In conclusion,
Mrs. Gallosh and myself beg to assure you that although you find strangers in
your ancestral halls, you will receive both from your tenantry and ourselves a
very hearty welcome to your native land. Believe me, your obedient servant,
"DUNCAN JNO. GALLOSH."
"Zat is goot
news!" cried the Baron. "Ve shall have company -- perhaps ladies!
Ach, Bonker, I have ze soft spot in mine heart: I am so constant as ze needle
to ze pole; but I do like sometimes to talk mit voman!"
"With Mrs.
Gallosh, for instance?"
"But, Bonker, zere
may be a Miss Gallosh."
"If you consulted
the Baroness," said Bunker, smiling, "I suspect she would prefer you
to be imprisoned in China."
The Baron laughed, and
curled his martial mustache with a dangerous air.
"Who is zis
Gallosh?" he inquired.
"Scottish, I judge
from his name; commercial, from his literary style; elevated by his own
exertions, from the size of his crest; and wealthy, from the fact that he rents
Hechnahoul Castle. His mention of Mrs. Gallosh points to the fact that he is
either married or would have us think so; and I should be inclined to conclude
that he has probably begot a family."
"Aha!" said
the Baron. "Ve vill gom and see, eh?"
A CAREFULLY clothed
young man, with an eyeglass and a wavering gait, walked slowly out of Euston
Station. He had just seen the Scottish express depart, and this event seemed to
have filled him with dubious reflections. In fact, at the very last moment Lord
Tulliwuddle's confidence in his two friends had been a trifling degree
disturbed. It occurred to him as he lingered by the door of their reserved
first-class compartment that they had a little too much the air of gentlemen
departing on their own pleasure rather than on his business. No sooner did he
drop a fretful hint of this opinion than their affectionate protestations had
quickly revived his spirit; but now that they were no longer with him to
counsel and encourage, it once more drooped.
"Confound
it!" he thought, "I hadn't bargained on having to keep out of
people's way till they came back. If Essington had mentioned that sooner, I
don't know that I'd have been so keen about the notion. Hang it! I'll have to
chuck the Morrells' dance. And I can't go with the Greys to Ranelagh. I can't
even dine with my own aunt on Sunday. Oh, the devil!"
The perturbed young
peer waved his umbrella and climbed into a hansom.
"Well, anyhow, I
can still go on seeing Connie. That's some consolation," he told himself;
and without stopping to consider what would be the thoughts of his two obliging
friends had they known he was seeking consolation in the society of one lady
while they were arranging his nuptials with another, the baptismal Tulliwuddle
drove back to the civilization of St. James's.
Within the reserved
compartment was no foreboding, no faint-hearted paling of the cheek. As the
train clattered, hummed, and presently thundered on its way, the two laughed
cheerfully towards one another, delighted beyond measure with the prosperous
beginning of their enterprise. The Baron could not sufficiently express his
gratitude and admiration for the promptitude with which his friend had purveyed
so promising an adventure.
"Ve vill have fon,
my Bonker. Ach! ve vill," he exclaimed for the third or fourth time within
a dozen miles from Euston.
His Bunker assumed an
air half affectionate, half apologetic.
"I only regret
that I should have the lion's share of the adventure, my dear Baron."
"Yes," said
the Baron, with a symptom of a sigh, "I do envy you indeed. Yet I should
not say zat ---- " Bunker swiftly interrupted him.
"You would like to
play a worthier part than merely his lordship's friend?"
"Ach! if I
could."
Bunker smiled
benignantly.
"Ah, Baron, you
cannot suppose that I would really do Tulliwuddle such injustice as to attempt,
in my own feeble manner, to impersonate him?"
The Baron stared.
"Vat mean
you?"
"You shall be the
lion, I the humble necessary jackal. As our friend so aptly quoted, noblesse
oblige. Of course, there can be no doubt about it. You, Baron, must play the
part of peer, I of friend."
The Baron gasped.
"Impossible!"
"Quite simple, my
dear fellow."
"You -- you don't
mean so?"
"I do
indeed."
"Bot I shall not
do it so vell as you."
"A hundred times
better."
"Bot vy did you
not say so before?"
"Tulliwuddle might
not have agreed with me."
"Bot vould he like
it now?"
"It is not what he
likes that we should consider, it's what is good for his interests."
"Bot if I should
fail?"
"He will be no
worse off than before. Left to himself, he certainly won't marry the lady. You
give him his only chance."
"Bot more zan you
vould, really and truthfully?"
"My dear Baron,
you are admitted by all to be an ideal German nobleman. Therefore you will
certainly make an ideal British peer. You have the true Grand-Seigneur air. No
one would mistake you for anything but a great aristocrat, if they merely saw
you in bathing pants; whereas I have something a little different about my
manner. I'm not so impressive -- not so hall-marked, in fact."
His friend's omniscient
air and candidly eloquent tone impressed the Baron considerably. His ingrained
conviction of his own importance accorded admirably with these arguments. His
thirst for "life" craved this lion's share. His sanguine spirit
leaped at the appeal. Yet his well-regulated conscience could not but state one
or two patent objections.
"Bot I have not
read so moch of the Tollyvoddles as you. I do not know ze strings so
vell."
"I have told you
nearly everything I know. You will find the rest here."
Essington handed him
the note-book containing his succinct digest. In intelligent anticipation of
this contingency it was written in his clearest handwriting.
"You should have
been a German," said the Baron admiringly.
He glanced with
sparkling eyes at the note-book, and then with a distinctly greater effort the
Teutonic conscience advanced another objection.
"Bot you have
bought ze kilt, ze Highland hat, ze brogue shoes."
"I had them made to
your measurements."
The Baron impetuously
embraced his thoughtful friend. Then again his smile died away.
"Bot, Bonker, my
voice! Zey tell me I haf nozing zat you vould call qvite an accent; bot a
foreigner -- one does regognize him, eh?"
"I shall explain
that in a sentence. The romantic tincture of -- well, not quite accent, is a
pleasant little piece of affectation adopted by the young bloods about the
Court in compliment to the German connections of the Royal family."
The Baron raised no
more objections.
"Bonker, I agree!
Tollyvoddle I shall be, by Jove and all!"
He beamed his
satisfaction, and then in an eager voice asked --
"You haf not ze
kilt in zat hat-box?"
Unfortunately, however,
the kilt was in the van.
Now the journey, propitiously
begun, became more exhilarating, more exciting with each mile flung by. The
Baron, egged on by his friend's high spirits and his own imagination to
anticipate pleasure upon pleasure, watched with rapture the summer landscape
whiz past the windows. Through the flat midlands of England they sped; field
after field, hedgerow after hedgerow, trees by the dozen, by the hundred, by
the thousand, spinning by in one continuous green vista. Red brick towns,
sluggish rivers, thatched villages and ancient churches dark with yews, the
shining web of junctions, and a whisking glimpse of wayside stations leaped
towards them, past them, and leagues away behind. But swiftly as they sped, it
was all too slowly for the fresh-created Lord Tulliwuddle.
"Are we not nearly
to Scotland yet?" he inquired some fifty times.
" `My heart's in
the Highlands a-chasing the dears!' " hummed the abdicated nobleman, whose
hilarity had actually increased (if that were possible) since his descent into
the herd again.
All the travellers'
familiar landmarks were hailed by the gleeful diplomatist with encouraging
comments.
"Ach, look!
Beauteeful view! How quickly it is gone! Hurray! Ve must be nearly to
Scotland."
A panegyric on the
rough sky-line of the north country fells was interrupted by the entrance of
the dining-car attendant. Learning that they would dine, he politely inquired
in what names he should engage their seats. Then, for an instant, a horrible
confusion nearly overcame the Baron. He -- a von Blitzenberg -- to give a false
name! His color rose, he stammered, and only in the nick of time caught his
companion's eye.
"Ze Lord
Tollyvoddle," he announced, with an effort as heroic as any of his
ancestors' most warlike enterprises.
Too impressed to
inquire how this remarkable title should be spelled, the man turned to the
other distinguished-looking passenger.
"Bunker,"
said that gentleman, with smiling assurance.
The man went out.
"Now are ve
named!" cried the Baron, his courage rising the higher for the shock it
had sustained. "And you vunce more vill be Bonker? Goot!"
"That satisfies
you?"
The Baron hesitated.
"My dear friend, I
have a splendid idea! Do you know I did disgover zere used to be a nobleman in
Austria really called Count Bonker? He vas a famous man; you need not be
ashamed to take his name. Vy should not you be Count Bonker?"
"You prefer to
travel in titled company? Well, be hanged -- why not! When one comes to think
of it, it seems a pity that my sins should always be attributed to the middle
classes."
Accordingly this
history has now the honorable task of chronicling the exploits of no fewer than
two noblemen.
LATE that evening they
reached a city which the home-coming chieftain in an outburst of Celtic fervor
dubbed "mine own bonny Edinburg!" and there they repaired for the
night to a hotel. Once more the Baron (we may still style him so since the
peerage of Tulliwuddle was of that standing also) showed a certain diffidence
when it came to answering to his new title in public; but in the seclusion of
their private sitting-room he was careful to assure his friend that this did
not arise from any lack of nerve or qualms zof conscience, but merely through a
species of headache -- the result of railway travelling.
"Do not fear for
me," he declared as he stirred the sugar in his glass, "I have ze
heart of a lion."
The liquid he was
sipping being nothing less potent than a brew of whisky punch, which he had
ordered (or rather requested Bunker to order) as the most romantically national
compound he could think of, produced, indeed, a fervor of foolhardiness. He
insisted upon opening the door wide, and getting Bunker to address him as
"Tollyvoddle," in a strident voice, "so zat zey all may
hear," and then answering in a firm "Yes, Count Bonker, vat vould you
say to me?"
It is true that he
instantly closed the door again, and even bolted it, but his display seemed to
make a vast impression upon himself.
"Many men vould
not dare so to go mit anozzer name," he announced; "bot I have my
nerves onder a good gontrol."
"You astonish
me," said the Count.
"I do even
surprise myself," admitted the Baron.
In truth the ordeal of
carelessly carrying off an alias is said by those who have undergone it (and
the report is confirmed by an experienced class of public officials) to require
a species of hardihood which, fortunately for society, is somewhat rare. The
most daring Smith will sometimes stammer when it comes to merely answering
"Yes" to a cry of "Brown!" and Count Bunker, whose
knowledge of human nature was profound and remarkably accurate, was careful to
fortify his friend by example and praise, till by the time they went to bed the
Baron could scarcely be withheld from seeking out the manager and airing his
assurance upon him. Or, at least, he declared he would have done this had he
been sure that the manager was not already in bed himself.
Unfortunately at this
juncture the Count committed one of those indiscretions to which a gay spirit
is always prone, but which, to do him justice, seldom sullied his own record as
a successful adventurer. At an hour considerably past midnight, hearing an
excited summons from the Baron's bedroom, he laid down his toothbrush and
hastened across the passage, to find the new peer in a crimson dressing-gown of
quilted silk gazing enthusiastically at a lithograph that hung upon the wall.
"See!" he
cried gleefully, "here is my own ancestor. Bonker, I feel I am Tollyvoddle
indeed."
The print which had
inspired this enthusiasm depicted a historical but treasonable Lord Tulliwuddle
preparing to have his head removed.
Giving it a droll look,
the Count observed --
"Well, if it
inspires you, my dear Baron, that's all right. The omen would have struck me
differently."
"Ze omen!"
murmured the Baron with a start.
It required all
Bunker's tact to revive his ally's damped enthusiasm, and even at breakfast
next morning he referred in a gloomy voice to various premonitions recorded in
the history of his family, and the horrible consequences of disregarding them.
But by the time they
had started upon their journey north, his spirits rose a trifle; and when at
length all lowland landscapes were left far behind them, and they had come into
a province of peat streams and granite pinnacles, with the gloom of pines and
the freshness of the birch blended like a May and December marriage, all
appearance, at least, of disquietude had passed away.
Yet the Count kept an
anxious eye upon him. He was becoming decidedly restless. At one moment he
would rave about the glorious scenery; the next, plunge into a brown study of
the Tulliwuddle rent- roll; and then in an instant start humming an air and
smoking so fast that both their cases were empty while they were yet half an
hour from Torrydhulish Station. Now the Baron took to biting his nails, looking
at his watch, and answering questions at random -- a very different spectacle
from the enthusiastic traveller of yesterday.
"Only ten minutes
more," observed Bunker in his most cheering manner.
The Baron made no
reply.
They were now running
along the brink of a glimmering loch, the piled mountains on the farther shore
perfectly mirrored; a tern or two lazily fishing; a delicate summer sky smiling
above. All at once Count Bunker started --
"That must be
Hechnahoul!" said he.
The Baron looked and beheld,
upon an eminence across the loch, the towers and turrets of an imposing mansion
overtopping a green grove.
"And here is the
station," added the Count.
The Baron's face
assumed a piteous expression.
"Bonker," he
stammered, "I -- I am afraid! You be ze Tollyvoddle -- I cannot do
him!"
"My dear
Baron!"
"Oh, I
cannot!"
"Be brave -- for
the honor of the fatherland. Play the bold Blitzenberg!"
"Ach, ja; but not
bold Tollyvoddle. Zat picture -- you vere right -- it vas omen!"
Never did the genius of
Bunker rise more audaciously to an occasion.
"My dear
Baron," said he, assuming on the instant a confidence-inspiring smile,
"that print was a hoax; it wasn't old Tulliwuddle at all. I faked it
myself."
"So?" gasped
the Baron. "You assure me truly?"
Muttering (the
historian sincerely hopes) a petition for forgiveness, Bunker firmly answered
--
"I do assure
you!"
The train had stopped,
and as they were the only first-class passengers on board, a peculiarly
magnificent footman already had his hand upon the door. Before turning the
handle, he touched his hat.
"Lord
Tulliwuddle?" he respectfully inquired.
"Ja -- zat is,
yes, I am," replied the Baron.
FROM the platform down
to the pier was only some fifty yards, and before them the travellers perceived
an exceedingly smart steam- launch, and a stout middle-aged gentleman, in a
blue serge suit and yachting cap, advancing from it to greet them. They had
only time to observe that he had a sanguine complexion, iron-gray whiskers, and
a wide-open eye, before he raised the cap and, in a decidedly North British
accent, thus addressed them --
"My lord -- ahem!
-- your lordship, I should say -- I presume I've the pleasure of seeing Lord
Tulliwuddle?"
The Count gently pushed
his more distinguished friend in front. With an embarrassment equal to their
host's, his lordship bowed and gave his hand.
"I am ze
Tollyvoddle -- vary pleased -- Mistair Gosh, I soppose?"
"Gallosh, my lord.
Very honored to welcome you."
In the round eyes of
Mr. Gallosh, Count Bunker perceived an unmistakable stare of astonishment at
the sound of his lordship's accented voice. The Baron, on his part, was
evidently still suffering from his attack of stage fright; but again the
Count's gifts smoothed the creases from the situation.
"You have not
introduced me to our host, Tulliwuddle," he said, with a gay, infectious
confidence.
"Ah, so! Zis is my
friend Count Bunker -- gom all ze vay from Austria," responded the Baron,
with no glimmer of his customary aplomb.
Making a mental
resolution to warn his ally never to say one word more about his fictitious
past than was wrung by cross-examination, the distinguished- looking Austrian
shook his host's hand warmly.
"From Austria viâ
London," he explained in his pleasantest manner. "I object altogether
to be considered a foreigner, Mr. Gallosh; and, in fact, I often tell
Tulliwuddle that people will think me more English than himself. The German
fashions so much in vogue at Court are transforming the very speech of your
nobility. Don't you sometimes notice it?"
Thus directly appealed
to, Mr. Gallosh became manifestly perplexed.
"Yes -- yes,
you're right in a way," he pronounced cautiously. "I suppose they do
that. But will ye not take a seat? This is my launch. Hi! Robert, give his
lordship a hand on board!"
Two mariners and a
second tall footman assisted the guests to embark, and presently they were
cutting the waters of the loch at a merry pace.
In the prow, like
youth, the Baron insisted upon sitting with folded arms and a gloomy aspect;
and as his nerve was so patently disturbed, the Count decidedly approved of an
arrangement which left his host and himself alone together in the stern. In his
present state of mind the Baron was capable of any indiscretion were he
compelled to talk; while, silent and brooding in isolated majesty, he looked to
perfection the part of returning exile. So, evidently, thought Mr. Gallosh.
"His lordship is
looking verra well," he confided to the Count in a respectfully lowered
voice.
"The improvement
has been remarkable ever since his foot touched his native heath."
"You don't say
so," said Mr. Gallosh, with even greater interest. "Was he delicate
before?"
"A London life,
Mr. Gallosh."
"True -- true,
he'll have been busy seeing his friends; it'll have been verra wearing."
"The anxiety, the
business of being invested, and so on, has upset him a trifle. You must put
down any little -- well, peculiarity to that, Mr. Gallosh."
"I understand --
aye, umh'm, quite so. He'll like to be left to himself, perhaps?"
"That depends on
his condition," said the Count diplomatically.
"It's a great
responsibility for a young man; yon's a big property to look after,"
observed Mr. Gallosh in a moment.
"You have touched
the spot!" said the Count warmly. "That is, in fact, the chief cause
of Tulliwuddle's curious moodiness ever since he succeeded to the title. He
feels his responsibilities a little too acutely."
Again Mr. Gallosh
ruminated, while his guest from the corner of his eye surveyed him shrewdly.
"My forecast was
wonderfully accurate," he said to himself.
The silence was first
broken by Mr. Gallosh. As if thinking aloud, he remarked --
"I was awful
surprised to hear him speak! It's the Court fashion, you say?"
"Partly that;
partly a prolonged residence on the Continent in his youth. He acquired his
accent then; he has retained it for fashion's sake," explained the Count,
who thought it as well to bolster up the weakest part of his case a little more
securely.
With this prudent
purpose, he added, with a flattering air of taking his host into his
aristocratic confidence --
"You will perhaps
be good enough to explain this to the friends and dependants Lord Tulliwuddle
is about to meet? A breath of unsympathetic criticism would grieve him greatly
if it came to his ears."
"Quite,
quite," said Mr. Gallosh eagerly. "I'll make it all right. I
understand the sentiment pairfectly. It's verra natural -- verra natural
indeed."
At that moment the
Baron started from his reverie with an affrighted air.
"Vat is zat
strange sound!" he exclaimed.
The others listened.
"That's just the
pipes, my lord," said Mr. Gallosh. "They're tuning up to welcome
you."
His lordship stared at
the shore ahead of them.
"Zere are many
peoples on ze coast!" he cried. "Vat makes it for?"
"They've come to
receive you," his host explained. "It's just a little spontaneous
demonstration, my lord."
His lordship's
composure in no way increased.
"It was Mrs.
Gallosh organized a wee bit entertainment on his lordship's landing,"
their host explained confidentially to the Count. "It's just informal, ye
understand. She's been instructing some of the tenants -- and ma own girls will
be there -- but, oh, it's nothing to speak of. If he says a few words in reply,
that'll be all they'll be expecting."
The strains of
"Tulliwuddle wha hae" grew ever louder and, to an untrained ear, more
terrific. In a moment they were mingled with a clapping of hands and a Highland
cheer, the launch glided alongside the pier, and, supported on his faithful
friend's arm, the panic-stricken Tulliwuddle staggered ashore. Before his dazed
eyes there seemed to be arrayed the vastest and most barbaric concourse his
worst nightmare had ever imagined. Six pipers played within ten paces of him,
each of them arrayed in the full panoply of the clan; at least a dozen dogs
yelped their exultation; and from the surrounding throng two ancient men in
tartan and four visions in snowy white stepped forth to greet the distinguished
visitors.
The first hitch in the
proceedings occurred at this point. According to the unofficial but carefully
considered programme, the pipers ought to have ceased their melody; but,
whether inspired by ecstatic loyalty or because the Tulliwuddle pibroch took
longer to perform than had been anticipated, they continued to skirl with such
vigor that expostulations passed entirely unheard. Under the circumstances
there was nothing for it but shouting, and in a stentorian yell Mr. Gallosh
introduced his wife and three fair daughters.
Thereupon Mrs. Gallosh,
a broad-beamed matron whose complexion contrasted pleasantly with her costume,
delivered the following oration --
"Lord Tulliwuddle,
in the name of the women of Hechnahoul -- I may say in the name of the women of
all the Highlands -- oor ain Heelands, my lord" (this with the most
insinuating smile) -- "I bid you welcome to your ancestral estates.
Remembering the conquests your ancestors used to make both in war and in a
gentler sphere" (Mrs. Gallosh looked archness itself), "we ladies, I
suppose, should regard your home- coming with some misgivings; but, my lord,
every bonny Prince Charlie has his bonny Flora Macdonald, and in this land of
mountain, mist, and flood, where `Dark Ben More frowns o'er the wave,' and
where `Ilka lassie has her laddie,' you will find a thousand romantic maidens
ready to welcome you as Ellen welcomed Fitz-James! For centuries your heroic
race has adorned the halls and trod the heather of Hechnahoul, and for
centuries more we hope to see the offspring of your lordship and some winsome
Celtic maid rule these cataracts and glens!"
At this point the
exertion of shouting down six bagpipes in active eruption caused a temporary
cessation of the lady's eloquence, and the pause was filled by the cheers of
the crowd led by the "Hip-hip-hip!" of Count Bunker, and by the
broken and fortunately inaudible protests of the embarrassed father of future
Tulliwuddles. In a moment Mrs. Gallosh had resumed --
"Lord Tulliwuddle,
though I myself am only a stranger to your clan, your Highland heart will feel
reassured when I mention that I belong through my grandmother to the kindred
clan of the Mackays!" ("Hear, hear!" from two or three ladies
and gentlemen, evidently guests of the Gallosh.) "We are but visitors at
Hechnahoul, yet we assure you that no more devoted hearts beat in all
Caledonia! Lord Tulliwuddle, we welcome you!"
"Put your hand on
your heart and bow," whispered Bunker. "Keep on bowing and say nothing!"
Mechanically the
bewildered Baron obeyed, and for a few moments presented a spectacle not unlike
royalty in procession.
But as some reply from
him had evidently been expected at this point, and the pipers had even ceased
playing lest any word of their chief's should be lost, a pause ensued which
might have grown embarrassing had not the Count promptly stepped forward.
"I think," he
said, indicating two other snow-white figures who held gigantic bouquets,
"that a pleasant part of the ceremony still remains before us."
With a grateful glance
at this discerning guest, Mrs. Gallosh thereupon led forward her two youngest
daughters (aged fifteen and thirteen), who, with an air so delightfully coy
that it fell like a ray of sunshine on the poor Baron's heart, presented him
with their flowery symbols of Hechnahoul's obeisance to its lord.
His consternation
returned with the advance of the two ancient clansmen who, after a guttural
panegyric in Gaelic, offered him further symbols -- a claymore and target, very
formidable to behold. All these gifts having been adroitly transferred to the
arms of the footmen by the ubiquitous Count, the Baron's emotions swiftly
passed through another phase when the eldest Miss Gallosh, aged twenty, with
burning eyes and the most distracting tresses, dropped him a sweeping courtesy
and offered a final contribution -- a fiery cross, carved and painted by her
own fair hands.
A fresh round of
applause followed this, and then a sudden silence fell upon the assembly. All eyes
were turned upon the chieftain: not even a dog barked: it was the moment of a
lifetime.
"Can you manage a
speech, old man?" whispered Bunker.
"Ach, no, no, no!
Let me escape. Oh, let me fly!"
"Bury your face in
your hands and lean on my shoulder," prompted the Count.
This stage direction
being obeyed, the most effective tableau conceivable was presented, and the
climax was reached when the Count, after a brief dumb-show intended to indicate
how vain were Lord Tulliwuddle's efforts to master his emotion, spoke these
words in the most thrilling accents he could muster
"Fair ladies and
brave men of Hechnahoul! Your chief, your friend, your father requests me to
express to you the sentiments which his over-wrought emotions prevent him from
uttering himself. On his behalf I tender to his kind and courteous friends,
Mr., Mrs., and the fair maids Gallosh, the thanks of a long- absent exile
returned to his native land for the welcome they have given him! To his devoted
clan he not only gives his thanks, but his promise that all rents shall be
reduced by one half -- so long as he dwells among them!" (Tumultuous
applause, disturbed only by a violent ejaculation from a large man in
knickerbockers whom Bunker justly judged to be the factor.)
"With his last
breath he shall perpetually thunder: Ahasheen -- comara -- mohr!"
The Tulliwuddle slogan,
pronounced with the most conscientious accuracy of which a Sassenach was
capable, proved as effective a curtain as he had anticipated; and amid a
perfect babel of cheering and bagpiping the chieftain was led to his host's
carriage.
WELL, the worst of it
is over," said Bunker cheerfully.
The Baron groaned.
"Ze vorst is only jost beginning to gommence."
They were sitting over
a crackling fire of logs in the sitting-room of the suite which their host had
reserved for his honored visitors. How many heirlooms and dusky portraits the
romantic thoughtfulness of the ladies had managed to crowd into this apartment
for the occasion were hard to compute; enough, certainly, one would think, to
inspire the most sluggish- blooded Tulliwuddle with a martial exultation.
Instead, the chieftain groaned again.
"Tell zem I am
ill. I cannot gom to dinner. To- morrow I shall take ze train back to London.
Himmel! Vy vas I fool enof to act soch dishonorable lies! I deceive all these
kind peoples!"
"It isn't that
which worries me," said Bunker imperturbably. "I am only afraid that
if you display this spirit you won't deceive them."
"I do not vish
to," said the Baron sulkily.
It required half an
hour of the Count's most artful blandishments to persuade him that duty, honor,
and prudence all summoned him to the feast. This being accomplished, he next
endeavored to convince him that he would feel more comfortable in the airy
freedom of the Tulliwuddle tartan. But here the Baron was obdurate. Now that
the kilt lay ready to his hand he could not be persuaded even to look at it. In
gloomy silence he donned his conventional evening dress and announced, last
thing before they left their room --
"Bonker, say no
more! To-morrow morning I depart!"
Their hostess had
explained that a merely informal dinner awaited them, since his lordship (she
observed) would no doubt prefer a quiet evening after his long journey. But
Mrs. Gallosh was one of those good ladies who are fond of asking their friends
to take "pot luck," and then providing them with fourteen courses; or
suggesting a "quiet little evening together," when they have
previously removed the drawing- room carpet. It is an affectation of modesty
apt to disconcert the retiring guest who takes them at their word. In the
drawing-room of Mrs. Gallosh the startled Baron found assembled -- firstly, the
Gallosh family, consisting of all those whose acquaintance we have already
made, and in addition two stalwart school- boy sons; secondly, their
house-party, who comprised a Mr. and Mrs. Rentoul, from the same metropolis of
commerce as Mr. Gallosh, and a hatchet-faced young man with glasses, answering
to the name of Mr. Cromarty- Gow; and, finally, one or two neighbors. These
last included Mr. M'Fadyen, the large factor; the Established Church, U.F., Wee
Free, Episcopalian, and Original Secession ministers, all of whom, together
with their kirks, flourished within a four-mile radius of the Castle; the wives
to three of the above; three young men and their tutor, being some portion of a
reading-party in the village; and Mrs. Cameron- Campbell and her five
daughters, from a neighboring dower-house upon the loch.
It was fortunate that
all these people were prepared to be impressed with Lord Tulliwuddle, whatever
he should say or do; and further, that the unique position of such a famous
hereditary magnate even led them to anticipate some marked deviation from the
ordinary canons of conduct. Otherwise, the gloomy brows; the stare, apparently
haughty, in reality alarmed; the strange accent and the brief responses of the
chief guest, might have caused an unfavorable opinion of his character.
As it was, his
aloofness, however natural, would probably have proved depressing had it not
been for the gay charm and agreeable condescension of the other nobleman.
Seldom had more rested upon that adventurer's shoulders, and never had he
acquitted himself with greater credit. It was with considerable secret concern
that he found himself placed at the opposite end of the table from his friend,
but his tongue rattled as gaily and his smiles came as readily as ever. With
Mrs. Cameron-Campbell on one side, and a minister's lady upon the other, his
host two places distant, and a considerable audience of silent eaters within
earshot, he successfully managed to divert the attention of quite half the
table from the chieftain's moody humor.
"I always feel at
home with a Scotsman," he discoursed genially. "His imagination is so
quick, his intellect so clear, his honesty so remarkable, and" (with an
irresistible glance at the minister's lady) "his wife so charming."
"Ha, ha!"
laughed Mr. Gallosh, who was mellowing rapidly under the influence of his own
champagne. "I'm verra glad to see you know good folks when you meet them.
What do you think now of the English?"
Having previously
assured himself that his audience was neat Scotch, the polished Austrian
unblushingly replied --
"The Englishman, I
have observed, has a slightly slower imagination, a denser intelligence, and is
less conspicuous for perfect honesty. His womankind also have less of that
nameless grace and ethereal beauty which distinguish their Scottish sisters."
It is needless to say
that a more popular visitor never was seen than this discriminating foreigner,
and if his ambitions had not risen above a merely personal triumph, he would
have been in the highest state of satisfaction. But with a disinterested eye he
every now and then sought the farther end of the table, where, between his
hostess and her charming eldest daughter, and facing his factor, the Baron had
to endure his ordeal unsupported.
"I wonder how the
devil he's getting on!" he more than once said to himself.
For better or for
worse, as the dinner advanced, he began to hear the Court accent more
frequently, till his curiosity became extreme.
"His lordship
seems in better spirits," remarked Mr. Gallosh.
"I hope to Heaven
he may be!" was the fervent thought of Count Bunker.
At that moment the
point was settled. With his old roar of exuberant gusto the Baron announced, in
a voice that drowned even the five ministers --
"Ach, yes, I vill
toss ze caber to-morrow! I vill toss him -- so high!" (his napkin flapped
upwards). "How long shall he be? So tall as my castle: Mees Gallosh, you
shall help me? Ach, yes! Mit hands so fair ze caber vill spring like zis!"
His pudding-spoon, in
vivid illustration, skipped across the table and struck his factor smartly on
the shirt-front.
"Sare, I beg your
pardon," he beamed with a graciousness that charmed Mrs. Gallosh even more
than his spirited conversation -- "Ach, do not return it, please! It is
from my castle silver -- keep it in memory of zis happy night!"
The royal generosity of
this act almost reconciled Mrs. Gallosh to the loss of one of her own silver
spoons.
"Saved!"
sighed Bunker, draining his glass with a relish he had not felt in any item of
the feast hitherto.
Now that the Baron's
courage had returned, no heraldic lion ever pranced more bravely. His laughter,
his jests, his compliments were showered upon the delighted diners. Mr. Gallosh
and he drank healths down the whole length of the table "mit no
tap-heels!" at least four times. He peeled an orange for Miss Gallosh, and
cut the skin into the most diverting figures, pressing her hand tenderly as he
presented her with these works of art. He inquired of Mrs. Gallosh the names of
the clergymen, and, shouting something distantly resembling these, toasted them
each and all with what he conceived to be appropriate comments. Finally he rose
to his feet, and, to the surprise and delight of all, delivered the speech they
had been disappointed of earlier in the day.
"Goot Mr. Gallosh,
fair Mrs. Gallosh, divine Mees Gallosh, and all ze ladies and gentlemans, how
sorry I vas I could not make my speech before, I cannot eggspress. I had a
headache, and vas not vell vithin. Ach, soch zings vill happen in a new
climate. Bot now I am inspired to tell you I loff you all! I zank you
eggstremely! How can I return zis hospitality? I vill tell you! You must all go
to Bavaria and stay mit ---- "
"Tulliwuddle!
Tulliwuddle!" shouted Bunker frantically, to the great amazement of the
company. "Allow me to invite the company myself to stay with me in
Bavaria!"
The Baron turned
crimson, as he realized the abyss of error into which he had so nearly plunged.
Adroitly the Count covered his confusion with a fit of laughter so ingeniously
hearty that in a moment he had joined in it too.
"Ha, ha, ha!"
he shouted. "Zat was a leetle joke at my friend's eggspense. It is here,
in my castle, you shall visit me; some day very soon I shall live in him.
Meanvile, dear Mrs. Gallosh, gonsider it your home! For me you make it heaven,
and I cannot ask more zan zat! Now let us gom and have some fon!"
A salvo of applause
greeted this conclusion. At the Baron's impetuous request the cigars were
brought into the hall, and ladies and gentlemen all trooped out together.
"I cannot vait
till I have seen Miss Gallosh dance ze Highland reel," he explained to her
gratified mother; "she has promised me."
"But you must
dance too, Lord Tulliwuddle," said ravishing Miss Gallosh. "You know
you said you would."
"A promise to a lady
is a law," replied the Baron gallantly, adding in a lower tone,
"especially to so fair a lady!"
"It's a pity his
lordship hadn't on his kilt," put in Mr. Gallosh genially.
"By ze Gad, I vill
put him on! Hoch! Ve vill have some fon!"
The Baron rushed from
the hall, followed in a moment by his noble friend. Bunker found him already
wrapping many yards of tartan about his waist.
"But, my dear
fellow, you must take off your trousers," he expostulated.
Despite his glee, the
Baron answered with something of the Blitzenberg dignity --
"Ze bare leg I
cannot show to-night -- not to dance mit ze young ladies. Ven I have practised,
perhaps; but not now, Bonker."
Accordingly the
portraits of four centuries of Tulliwuddles beheld their representative appear
in the very castle of Hechnahoul with his trouser-legs capering beneath an
ill-hung petticoat of tartan. And, to make matters worse in their canvas eyes,
his own shameless laugh rang loudest in the mirth that greeted his entrance.
"Ze garb of
Gaul!" he announced, shaking with hilarity. "Gom, Bonker, dance mit
me ze Highland fling!"
The first night of Lord
Tulliwuddle's visit to his ancestral halls is still remembered among his native
hills. The Count also, his mind now rapturously at ease, performed prodigies.
They danced together what they were pleased to call the latest thing in London,
sang a duet, waltzed with the younger ladies, till hardly a head was left
unturned, and, in short, sent away the ministers and their ladies, the five
Miss Cameron-Campbells, the reading-party, and particularly the factor, with a
new conception of a Highland chief. As for the house-party, they felt that they
were fortunate beyond the lot of most ordinary mortals.
THE Baron sat among his
heirlooms, laboriously disengaging himself from his kilt. Fitfully throughout
this process he would warble snatches of an air which Miss Gallosh had sung.
"Whae vould not
dee for Sharlie?" he trolled, "Ze yong chevalier!"
"Then you don't
think of leaving to-morrow mornning?" asked Count Bunker, who was watching
him with a complacent air.
"Mein Gott, no
fears!"
"We had better
wait, perhaps, till the afternoon?"
"I go not for tree
veeks! Gaben sie -- das ist, gim'me zat tombler. Vun more of mountain juice to
ze health of all Galloshes! Partic'ly of vun! Eh, old Bonker?"
The Count took care to
see that the mountain juice was well diluted. His friend had already found
Scottish hospitality difficult to enjoy in moderation.
"Baron, you gave
us a marvellously lifelike representation of a Jacobite chieftain!"
The Baron laughed a
trifle vacantly.
"Ach, it is easy
for me. Himmel, a Blitzenberg should know how! Vollytoddle -- Toddyvolly --
whatsh my name, Bonker?"
The Count informed him.
"Tollivoddlesh is
nozing to vat I am at home! Abs'lutely nozing! I have a house twice as big as
zis, and servants -- Ach, so many I know not! Bot, mein Bonker, it is not soch
fon as zis! Mein Gott, I most get to bed. I toss ze caber to-morrow."
And upon the arm of his
faithful ally he moved cautiously towards his bedroom.
But if he had enjoyed
his evening well, his pleasure was nothing to the gratification of his hosts.
They could not bring themselves to break up their party for the night: there
were so many delightful reminiscences to discuss.
"Of all the
evenings ever I spent," declared Mr. Gallosh, "this fair takes the
cake. Just to think of that aristocratic young fellow being as companionable-
like! When first I put eyes on him, I said to myself -- `You're not for the
likes of us. All lords and ladies is your kind. Never a word did he say in the
boat till he heard the pipes play, and then I really thought he was frightened!
It must just have been a kind of home-sickness or something."
"It'll have been
the tuning up that set his teeth on edge," Mrs. Gallosh suggested practically.
"Or perhaps his
heart was stirred with thoughts of the past!" said Miss Gallosh, her eyes
brightening.
In any case, all were
agreed that the development of his hereditary instincts had been
extraordinarily rapid.
"I never really
properly talked with a lord before," sighed Mrs. Rentoul; "I hope
they're all like this one."
Mrs. Gallosh, on the
other hand, who boasted of having had one tête-à-tête and joined in several
general conversations with the peerage, appraised Lord Tulliwuddle with greater
discrimination.
"Ah, he's got a
soupçon!" she declared. "That's what I admire!"
"Do you mean his
German accent?" asked Mr. Cromarty-Gow, who was renowned for a cynical
wit, and had been seeking an occasion to air it ever since Lord Tulliwuddle had
made Miss Gallosh promise to dance a reel with him.
But the feeling of the
party was so strongly against a breath of irreverent criticism, and their
protest so emphatic, that he presently strolled off to the smoking- room,
wishing that Miss Gallosh, at least, would exercise more critical
discrimination.
"Do you think
would they like breakfast in their own room, Duncan?" asked Mrs. Gallosh.
"Offer it them --
offer it them; they can but refuse, and it's a kind of compliment to give them
the opportunity."
"His lordship will
not be wanting to rise early," said Mr. Rentoul. "Did you notice what
an amount he could drink, Duncan? Man, and he carried it fine! But he'll be the
better of a sleep-in in the morning, him coming from a journey too."
Mr. Rentoul was a
recognized authority on such questions, having, before the days of his
affluence, travelled for a notable firm of distillers. His praise of Lord
Tulliwuddle's capacity was loudly echoed by Mr. Gallosh, and even the ladies
could not but indulgently agree that he had exhibited a strength of head worthy
of his race.
"And yet he was a
wee thing touched too," said Mr. Rentoul sagely. "Maybe you were too
far gone yourself, Duncan, to notice it, and the ladies would just think it was
gallantry; but I saw it in his voice and his legs -- oh, just a wee thingie,
nothing to speak of."
"Surely you are
mistaken!" cried Miss Gallosh. "Wasn't it only excitement at finding
himself at Hechnahoul?"
"There's two kinds
of excitement," answered the oracle. "And this was the kind I'm best
acquaint with. Oh, but it was just a wee bittie."
"And who thinks
the worse of him for it?" cried Mr. Gallosh.
This question was
answered by general acclamation in a manner and with a spirit that proved how
deeply his lordship's gracious behavior had laid hold of all hearts.
BREAKFAST in the
private parlor was laid for two; but it was only Count Bunker, arrayed in a
becoming suit of knickerbockers, and looking as fresh as if he had feasted last
night on aerated water, who sat down to consume it.
"Who would be his
ordinary everyday self when there are fifty more amusing parts to play,"
he reflected gaily, as he sipped his coffee. "Blitzenberg and Essington
were two conventional members of society, ageing ingloriously, tamely
approaching five- and-thirty in bath-chairs. Tulliwuddle and Bunker are
paladins of romance! We thought we had grown up -- thank Heaven, we were
deceived!"
Having breakfasted and
lit a cigarette, he essayed for the second time to arouse the Baron; but
getting nothing but the most somnolent responses, he set out for a stroll,
visiting the gardens, stables, kennels, and keeper's house, and even inspecting
a likely pool or two upon the river, and making in the course of it several
useful acquaintances among the Tulliwuddle retainers.
When he returned he
found the Baron stirring a cup of strong tea and staring at an ancestral
portrait with a thoughtful frown.
"They are
preparing the caber, Baron," he remarked genially.
"Stoff and
nonsense; I vill not fling her!" was the wholly unexpected reply. "I
do not love to play ze fool alvays!"
"My dear
Baron!"
"Zat
picture," said the Baron, nodding his head solemnly towards the portrait.
"It is like ze Lord Tollyvoddle in ze print at ze hotel. I do believe he
is ze same."
"But I explained
that he wasn't Tulliwuddle."
"He is so
like," repeated the Baron moodily. "He most be ze same."
Bunker looked at it and
shook his head.
"A different man,
I assure you."
"Oh, ze
devil!" replied the Baron.
"What's the
matter?"
"I haff a head zat
tvists and turns like my head never did since many years."
The Count had already
surmised as much.
"Hang it out of
the window," he suggested.
The Baron made no reply
for some minutes. Then with an earnest air he began --
"Bonker, I have
somezing to say to you."
"You have the most
sympathetic audience outside the clan."
The Count's cheerful
tone did not seem to please his friend.
"Your heart, he is
too light, Bonker; ja, too light. Last night you did engourage me not to be
seemly."
"I!"
"I did get almost
dronk. If my head vas not so hard I should be dronk. Das ist not right. If I am
to be ze Tollyvoddle, it most be as I vould be Von Blitzenberg. I most not
forget zat I am not as ozzer men. I am noble, and most be so accordingly."
"What steps do you
propose to take?" inquired Bunker with perfect gravity.
The Baron stared at the
picture.
"Last night I had
a dream. It vas zat man -- at least, probably it vas, for I cannot remember
eggsactly. He did pursue me mit a kilt."
"With what did you
defend yourself?"
"I know not: I
jost remember zat it should be a warning. Ve Blitzenbergs have ze gift to
dream."
The Baron rose from the
table and lit a cigar. After three puffs he threw it from him.
"I cannot
smoke," he said dismally. "It has a onpleasant taste."
The Count assumed a
seriously thoughtful air.
"No doubt you will
wish to see Miss Maddison as soon as possible and get it over," he began.
"I have just learned that their place is about seven miles away. We could
borrow a trap this afternoon ---- "
"Nein, nein!"
interrupted the Baron. "Donnerwetter! Ach, no, it most not be so soon. I
most practise a leetle first. Not so immediately, Bonker."
Bunker looked at him
with a glance of unfathomable calm.
"I find that it
will be necessary for you to observe one or two ancient ceremonies, associated
from time immemorial with the accession of a Tulliwuddle. You are prepared for
the ordeal?"
"I most do my
duty, Bonker."
"This suggests
some more inspiring vision than the gentleman in the gold frame," thought
the Count acutely.
Aloud he remarked
"You have high
ideals, Baron."
"I hope so."
Again the Baron was the
unconscious object of a humorous, perspicacious scrutiny.
"Last night I did
hear zat moch was to be expected from me," he observed at length.
"From Mrs.
Gallosh?"
"I do not zink it
vas from Mrs. Gallosh."
Count Bunker smiled.
"You inflamed all
hearts last night," said he.
The Baron looked grave.
"I did drink too
moch last night. But I did not say vat I should not, eh? I vas not rude or
gross to -- Mistair Gallosh?"
"Not to Mr.
Gallosh."
The Baron looked a
trifle perturbed at the gravity of his tone.
"I vas not too
free, too undignified in presence of zat innocent and charming lady -- Miss
Gallosh?"
The air of scrutiny
passed from Count Bunker's face, and a droll smile came instead.
"Baron, I
understand your ideals and I appreciate your motives. As you suggest, you had
better rehearse your part quietly for a few days. Miss Maddison will find you
the more perfect suitor."
The Baron looked as
though he knew not whether to feel satisfied or not.
"By the way,"
said the Count in a moment, "have you written to the Baroness yet? Pardon
me for reminding you, but you must remember that your letters will have to go
out to Russia and back."
The Baron started.
"Teufel!" he
exclaimed. "I most indeed write."
"The post goes at
twelve."
The Baron reflected
gloomily, and then slowly moved to the writing-table and toyed with his pen. A
few minutes passed, and then in a fretful voice he asked --
"Vat shall I
say?"
"Tell her about
your journey across Europe -- how the crops look in Russia -- what you think of
St. Petersburg -- that sort of thing."
A silent quarter of an
hour went by, and then the Baron burst out
"Ach, I cannot
write to-day! I cannot invent like you. Ze crops -- I have got zat -- and zat I
arrived safe -- and zat Petersburg is nice. Vat else?"
"Anything you can
remember from text-books on Muscovy or illustrated interviews with the Czar.
Just a word or two, don't you know, to show you've been there; with a few
comments of your own."
"Vat like
comments?"
"Such as --
`Somewhat annoyed with bombs this afternoon,' or `This caused me to reflect
upon the disadvantages of an alcoholic marine' -- any little bit of philosophy
that occurs to you."
The Baron pondered.
"It is a pity zat
I have not been in Rossia," he observed.
"On the other
hand, it is a blessing your wife hasn't. Look at the bright side of things, my
dear fellow."
For a short time, from
the way in which the Baron took hasty notes in pencil and elaborated them in
ink (according to the system of Professor Virchausen), it appeared that he was
following his friend's directions. Later, from a sentimental look in his eye,
the Count surmised that he was composing an amorous addendum; and at last he
laid down his pen with a sigh which the cynical (but only the cynical) might
have attributed to relief.
"Ha, my head he is
getting more clear!" he announced. "Gom, let us present ourselves to
ze ladies, mine Bonker!"
IT is necessary, Bonker
-- you are sure?" "No Tulliwuddle has ever omitted the ceremony. If
you shirked, I am assured on the very best authority that it would excite the
gravest suspicions of your authenticity."
Count Bunker spoke with
an air of the most resolute conviction. Ever since they arrived he had taken
infinite pains to discover precisely what was expected of the chieftain, and
having by great good luck made the acquaintance of an elderly individual who
claimed to be the piper of the clan, and who proved a perfect granary of
legends, he was able to supply complete information on every point of
importance. Once the Baron had endeavored to corroborate these particulars by
interviewing the piper himself, but they had found so much difficulty in
understanding one another's dialects that he had been content to trust
implicitly to his friend's information. The Count, indeed, had rather avoided
than sought advice on the subject, and the piper, after several confidential
conversations and the passage of a sum of silver into his sporran, displayed an
equally Delphic tendency.
The Baron, therefore,
argued the present point no longer.
"It is jost a mere
ceremony," he said. "Ach, vell, nozing vill happen. Zis ghost -- vat
is his name?"
"It is known as
the Wraith of the Tulliwuddles. The heir must interview it within a week of
coming to the Castle."
"Vere most I see
him?"
"In the armory, at
midnight. You bring one friend, one candle, and wear a bonnet with one eagle's
feather in it. You enter at eleven and wait for an hour -- and, by the way,
neither of you must speak above a whisper."
"Pooh! Jost
hombog!" said the Baron valiantly. "I do not fear soch trash."
"When the Wraith
appears ---- "
"My goot Bonker,
he vill not gom!"
"Supposing he does
come -- and mind you, strange things happen in these old buildings,
particularly in the Highlands, and after dinner; if he comes, Baron, you must
ask him three questions."
The Baron laughed
scornfully.
"If I see a ghost
I vill ask him many interesting questions -- if he does feel cold, and
sochlike, eh? Ha, ha!"
With an imperturbable
gravity that was not without its effect upon the other, however gaily he might
talk, Bunker continued
"The three
questions are: first, `What art thou?' second, `Why comest thou here, O
spirit?' third, `What instructions desirest thou to give me?' Strictly
speaking, they ought to be asked in Gaelic, but exceptions have been made on
former occasions, and Mac- Dui -- who pipes, by the way, in the anteroom --
assures me that English will satisfy the Wraith in your case."
The Baron sniffed and
laughed, and twirled up the ends of his mustaches till they presented a
particularly desperate appearance. Yet there was a faint intonation of anxiety
in his voice as he inquired --
"You vill gom as
my friend, of course?"
"I? Quite out of
the question, I am sorry to say. To bring a foreigner (as I am supposed to be)
would rouse the clan to rebellion. No, Baron, you have a chance of paying a
graceful compliment to your host which you must not lose. Ask Mr. Gallosh to
share your vigil."
"Gallosh -- he
vould not be moch good sopposing -- Ach, but nozing vill happen! I vill ask
him."
The pride of Mr.
Gallosh on being selected as his lordship's friend on this historic occasion
was pleasant to witness.
"It's just a bit
of fiddle-de-dee," he informed his delighted family. "Duncan Gallosh
to be looking for bogles is pretty ridiculous -- but oh, I can't refuse to
disoblige his lordship."
"I should think
not, when he's done you the honor to invite you out of all his friends!"
said Mrs. Gallosh warmly. "Eva! do you hear the compliment that's been
paid your papa?"
Eva, their fair eldest
daughter, came into the room at a run. She had indeed heard (since the news was
on every tongue), and impetuously she flung her arms about her father's neck.
"Oh, papa, do him
credit!" she cried; "it's like a story come true! What a romantic
thing to happen!"
"What a
spirit!" her mother reflected proudly. "She is just the girl for a
chieftain's bride!"
That very night was
chosen for the ceremony, and eleven o'clock found them all assembled breathless
in the drawing-room: all, save Lord Tulliwuddle and his host.
"Will they have to
wait for a whole hour?" asked Mrs. Gallosh in a low voice.
Indeed they all spoke
in subdued accents.
"I am told,"
replied the Count, "that the apparition never appears till after midnight
has struck. Any time between twelve and one he may be expected."
"Think of the
terrible suspense after twelve has passed!" whispered Eva.
The Count had thought
of this.
"I advised Duncan
to take his flask," said Mr. Rentoul, with a solemn wink. "So he'll
not be so badly off."
"Papa would never
do such a thing to-night!" cried Eva.
"It's always a
kind of precaution," said the sage.
Presently Count Bunker,
who had been imparting the most terrific particulars of former interviews with
the Wraith to the younger Galloshes, remarked that he must pass the time by
overtaking some pressing correspondence.
"You will forgive
me, I hope, for shutting myself up for an hour or so," he said to his
hostess. "I shall come back in time to learn the results of the
meeting."
And with the loss of
his encouraging company a greater uneasiness fell upon the party.
Meanwhile, in a vast
cavern of darkness, lit only by the solitary candle, the Baron and his host
endeavored to maintain the sceptical buoyancy with which they had set forth
upon their adventure. But the chilliness of the room (they had no fire, and it
was a misty night with a moaning wind), the inordinate quantity of odd- looking
shadows, and the profound silence, were immediately destructive to buoyancy and
ultimately trying to scepticism.
"I wish ze piper
vould play," whispered the Baron.
"Mebbe he'll begin
nearer the time," his companion suggested.
The Baron shivered. For
the first time he had been persuaded to wear the full panoply of a Highland
chief, and though he had exhibited himself to the ladies with much pride, and
even in the course of dinner had promised Eva Gallosh that he would never again
don anything less romantic, he now began to think that a travelling-rug of the
Tulliwuddle tartan would prove a useful addition to the outfit on the occasion
of a midnight vigil. Also the stern prohibition against talking aloud
(corroborated by the piper with many guttural warnings) grew more and more
irksome as the night advanced.
"It's an awesome
place," whispered Mr. Gallosh.
"I hardly thought
it would have been as lonesome- like."
There was a tremor in
his voice that irritated the Baron.
"Pooh!" he
answered, "it is jost vun old piece of hombog! I do not believe in soch
things myself."
"Neither do I, my
lord; oh, neither do I; but -- would you fancy a dram?"
"Not for me, I
zank you," said his lordship stiffly.
Blessing the foresight
of Mr. Rentoul, his host unscrewed his flask and had a generous swig. As he was
screwing on the top again, the Baron, in a less haughty voice, whispered
"Perhaps jost vun
leetle taste."
They felt now for a few
minutes more aggressively disposed.
"Ve need not have
ze curtain shut," said the Baron. "Soppose you do draw him?"
Through the gloom Mr.
Gallosh took one or two faltering steps.
"Man, it's awful
hard to see one's way," he said nervously.
The Baron took the
candle, and with a martial stride escorted him to the window. They pulled aside
one corner of the heavy curtain, and then let it fall again and hurried back.
So far north there was indeed a gleam of daylight left, but it was such a pale
and ghostly ray, and the wreaths of mist swept so eerily and silently across
the pane, that candle-light and shadows seemed vastly preferable.
"How much more
time will there be?" whispered Mr. Gallosh presently.
"It is twenty-five
minutes to twelve."
"Your lordship!
Can we leave at twelve?"
The Baron started.
"Oh, Himmel!"
he exclaimed. "Vy did I not realize before? If nozing comes -- and nozing
vill come -- ve most stay till one, I soppose."
Mr. Gallosh emitted
something like a groan.
"Oh my, and that
candle will not last more than half an hour at the most!"
"Teufel!"
said the Baron. "It vas Bonker did give him to me. He might have made a
more proper calculation."
The prospect was now
gloomy indeed. An hour of candle-light had been bad, but an hour of pitch
darkness or of mist wreaths would be many times worse.
"A wee tastie
more, my lord?" Mr. Gallosh suggested, in a voice whose vibrations he made
an effort to conceal.
"Jost a vee,"
said his lordship, hardly more firmly.
With a dismal disregard
for their suspense the minutes dragged infinitely slowly. The flask was
finished; the candle guttered and flickered ominously; the very shadows grew
restless.
"There's a lot of
secret doors and such like in this part of the house -- let's hope there'll be
nothing coming through one of them," said Mr. Gallosh in a breaking voice.
The Baron muttered an
inaudible reply, and then with a start their shoulders bumped together.
"Damn it, what's
yon!" whispered Mr. Gallosh.
"Ze pipes!
Gallosh, how beastly he does play!"
In point of fact the
air seemed to consist of only one wailing note.
"Bong!" --
they heard the first stroke of midnight on the big clock on the Castle Tower;
and so unfortunately had Count Bunker timed the candle that on the instant its
flame expired.
"Vithdraw ze
curtains!" gasped the Baron.
"I canna, my lord!
Oh, I canna!" wailed Mr. Gallosh, breaking out into his broadest native
Scotch.
This time the Baron
made no movement, and in the palpitating silence the two sat through one long
dark minute after another, till some ten of them had passed.
"I shall stand it
no more!" muttered the Baron. "Ve vill creep for ze door."
"My lord, my lord!
For maircy's sake gie's a hold of you!" stammered Mr. Gallosh, falling on
his hands and knees and feeling for the skirt of his lordship's kilt.
But their flight was
arrested by a portent so remarkable that had there been only a single witness
one would suppose it to be a figment of his imagination. Fortunately, however,
both the Baron and Mr. Gallosh can corroborate each detail. About the middle, apparently,
of the wall opposite, an oblong of light appeared in the thickest of the gloom.
"Mein Gott!"
cried the Baron.
"It's filled wi'
reek!" gasped Mr. Gallosh.
And indeed the space
seemed filled with a slowly rising cloud of pungent blue smoke. Then their
horrified eyes beheld the figure of an undoubted Being hazily outlined behind
the cloud, and at the same time the piper, as if sympathetically aware of the
crisis, burst into his most dreadful discords. A yell rang through the gloom,
followed by the sounds of a heavy body alternately scuffling across the floor
and falling prostrate over unseen furniture. The Baron felt for his host, and
realized that this was the escaping Gallosh.
"Tulliwuddle!
Speak!" a hollow voice muttered out of the smoke.
The Baron has never
ceased to exult over the hardihood he displayed in this unnerving crisis.
Rising to his feet and drawing his claymore, he actually managed to stammer out
--
"Who -- who are
you?"
The Being (he could now
perceive dimly that it was clad in tartan) answered in the same deep, measured
voice --
"Your senses to confound and fuddle, Behold the Wraith of
Tulliwuddle!" This was
sufficiently terrifying, one would think, to excuse the Baron for following the
example of his host. But, though he found afterwards that he must have
perspired freely, he courageously stood his ground.
"Vy have you gomed
here?" he demanded in a voice nearly as hollow as the Wraith'
As solemnly as before
the spirit replied --
"From Pit that's bottomless and dark -- Methinks I hear it
shrieking -- Hark!" (The
Baron certainly did hear a tumult that might well be termed infernal; though
whether it emanated from Mr. Gallosh, fiends, or the piper, he could not at the
moment feel certain.)
"I came o'er many leagues of heather To carry back the answer
whether The noble chieftain of my clan Conducts him like a gentleman." After this warning, to put the third
question required an effort of the most supreme resolution. The Baron was equal
to it, however.
"Vat instroction
do you give me?" he managed to utter.
In the gravest accents
the Wraith chanted --
"Hang ever kilt above the knee, With Usquebaugh be not too free,
When toasts and sic'like games be mooted See that your dram be well diluted;
And oh, if you'd escape from Hades, Lord Tulliwuddle, 'ware the ladies!" The spirit vanished as magically as
he had appeared, and with this solemn warning ringing in his ears, the Baron
found himself in inky darkness again. This time he did not hesitate to grope
madly for the door, but hardly had he reached it, when, with a fresh sensation
of horror, he stumbled upon a writhing form that seemed to be pawing the
panels. He was, fortunately; as quickly reassured by hearing the voice of Mr.
Gallosh exclaim in terrified accents --
"I canna find the
haundle! Oh, Gosh, where's the haundle?"
Being the less frenzied
of the two, the Baron did succeed in finding the handle, and with a gasp of
relief burst into the lighted anteroom. The piper had already departed, and
evidently in haste, since he had left some portion of a bottle of whisky
unfinished. This fortunate circumstance enabled them to recover something of
their color, though, even when he felt his blood warming again, Mr. Gallosh
could scarcely speak coherently of his terrible ordeal.
"What an awfu'
night! what an awfu' night!" he murmured. "Oh, my lord, let's get out
of this!"
He was making for the
door when the Baron seized his arm.
"Vait!" he
cried. "Ze danger is past! Ach, vas I not brave? Did you not hear me speak
to him? You can bear vitness how brave I vas, eh?"
"I'll not swear I
heard just exactly what passed, my lord. Man, I'll own I was awful
feared!"
"Tuts! tuts!"
said the Baron kindly. "Ve vill say nozing about zat. You stood vell by
me, I shall say. And you vill tell zem I did speak mit courage to ze
ghost."
"I will
that!" said Mr. Gallosh.
By the time they
reached the drawing-room he had so far recovered his equanimity as to prove a
very creditable witness, and between them they gave such an account of their
adventure as satisfied even the excited expectations of their friends; though
the Baron thought it both prudent and more becoming his dignity to leave
considerable mystery attaching to the precise revelations of his ancestral
spirit.
"Bot vere is Bonker?"
he asked, suddenly noticing the absence of his friend.
A moment later the
Count entered and listened with the greatest interest to a second (and even
more graphic) account of the adventure. More intimate particulars still were
confided to him when they had retired to their own room, and he appeared as
surprised and impressed as any wraith-seer could desire. As they parted for the
night, the Baron started and sniffed at him.
"Vat a strange
smell you have!" he exclaimed.
"Peat smoke,
probably. This fire wouldn't draw."
"Strange!"
mused the Baron. "I did smell a leetle smell of zat before to-night."
"Yes; one notices
it all through the house with an east wind."
This seemed to the
Baron a complete explanation of the coincidence.
AT the house in
Belgrave Square at present tenanted by the Baron and Baroness von Blitzenberg,
an event of considerable importance had occurred. This was nothing less than
the arrival of the Countess of Grillyer upon a visit both of affection and
state. So important was she, and so great the attachment of her daughter, that
the preparations for her reception would have served for a reigning sovereign.
But the Countess had an eye as quick and an appetite for respect as exacting as
Queen Elizabeth, and she had no sooner embraced the Baroness and kissed her
ceremoniously upon either cheek, than her glance appeared to seek something
that she deemed should have been there also.
"And where is
Rudolph?" she demanded. "Is he so very busy that he cannot spare a moment
even to welcome me?"
The Baroness changed
color, but with as easy an air as she could assume she answered that Rudolph
had most unfortunately been summoned from England.
"Indeed?"
observed the Countess, and the observation was made in a tone that suggested
the advisability of a satisfactory explanation.
This paragon among
mothers and peeresses was a lady of majestic port, whose ascendant expression
and commanding voice were commonly held to typify all that is best in the
feudal system; or, in other words, to indicate that her opinions had never been
contradicted in her life. When one of these is a firm belief in the holder's
divine rights and semi-divine origin, the effect is undoubtedly impressive. And
the Countess impressed.
"My dear
Alicia," said she, when they had settled down to tea and confidential
talk, "you have not yet told me what has taken Rudolph abroad again so
soon."
On nothing had the
Baron laid more stress than on the necessity of maintaining the most profound
secrecy respecting his mission. "No, not even to your mozzer most you say.
My love, you vill remember?" had been almost his very last words before
departing for St. Petersburg. His devoted wife had promised this not once, but
many times, while his finger was being shaken at her, and would have scorned
herself had she thought it possible to break her vows.
"That is a secret,
mamma," she declared.
Her mother opened her
eyes.
"A secret from me,
Alicia?"
"Rudolph made me
promise."
"Not to tell your
friends -- but that hardly was intended to include your mother."
The Baroness looked
uncomfortable.
"I -- I'm afraid
---- " she began, and stopped in hesitation.
"Did he
specifically include me?" demanded the Countess in an altered tone.
"I think, mamma,
he did," her daughter faltered.
"Ah!"
And there was a world
of meaning in that comment.
"Believe me,
mamma, it is something very, very important, or Rudolph would certainly have
let me tell you all about it."
Lady Grillyer opened
her eyes still wider.
"Then I am to
understand that he wishes to conceal from me anything that he considers of
importance?"
"Oh, no! Not that!
I only mean that this thing is very secret."
"Alicia,"
pronounced the Countess, "when a man specifically conceals anything from
his mother-in-law, you may be quite certain that she ought to be informed of it
at once."
"I -- I can't,
mamma!"
"A trip to Germany
-- for it is there, I presume, he has gone -- back to the scenes of his
bachelorhood, unprotected by the influence of his wife! Do you call that a
becoming procedure?"
"But he hasn't
gone to Germany."
"He has no
business anywhere else!"
"You forget his
diplomatic duties."
"Ah! He professes
to have gone on diplomatic business?"
"Professes,
mamma?" exclaimed the poor Baroness. "How can you say such a thing!
He certainly has gone on a diplomatic mission!"
"To Paris, no
doubt?" suggested Lady Grillyer, with an intonation that made it quite
impossible not to contradict her.
"Certainly not! He
has gone to Russia."
The more the Countess
learned, the more anxious she appeared to grow.
"To Russia, on a
diplomatic mission? This is incredible, Alicia!"
"Why should it be
incredible?" demanded Alicia, flushing.
"Because he is a
mere tyro in diplomacy. Because there is a German embassy at Petersburg, and
they would not send a man from London on a mission -- at least, it is most unlikely."
"It seems to me
quite natural," declared the Baroness.
She was showing more
fight than her mother had ever encountered from her before, and the opposition
seemed to inflame Lady Grillyer's resentment against the unfilial couple.
"You know nothing
about it! What is this mission about?"
"That certainly is
a secret," said Alicia, relieved that there was something left to keep her
promise over.
"Has he gone
alone?"
"I -- I mustn't
tell you, mamma."
Alicia's face betrayed
this subterfuge.
"You do not know
yourself, Alicia," said the Countess incisively. "And so you need no
longer pretend to be keeping a secret from me. It now becomes our joint
business to discover the actual truth. Do not attempt to wrangle with me
further! This investigation is necessary for your peace of mind, dear."
The unfortunate
Baroness dropped a silent tear. Her peace of mind had been serenely undisturbed
till this moment, and now it was only broken by the thought of her husband's
displeasure should he ever learn how she had disobeyed his injunctions. Further
investigation was the very last thing to cure it, she said to herself bitterly.
She looked piteously at her parent, but there she only saw an expression of
concentrated purpose.
"Have you any
reason, Alicia, to suspect an attachment -- an affair of any kind?"
"Mamma!"
"Do not jump in
that excitable manner. Think quietly. He has evidently returned to Germany for
some purpose which he wishes to conceal from us: the natural supposition is
that a woman is at the bottom of it."
"Rudolph is
incapable ---- "
"No man is
incapable who is in the full possession of his faculties. I know them
perfectly."
"But, mamma, I
cannot bear to think of such a thing!"
"That is a merely
middle-class prejudice. I can't imagine where you have picked it up."
In point of fact,
during Alicia's girlhood Lady Grillyer had always been at the greatest pains to
preserve her daughter's innocent simplicity, as being preëminently a more
marketable commodity than precocious worldliness. But if reminded of this she
would probably have retorted that consistency was middle-class also.
"I have no reason
to suspect anything of the sort," the Baroness declared emphatically.
Her mother indulged her
with a pitying smile and inquired --
"What other
explanation can you offer? Among his men friends is there anyone likely to lead
him into mischief?"
"None -- at least
---- "
"Ah!"
"He promised me he
would avoid Mr. Bunker -- I mean Mr. Essington."
The Countess started.
She had vivid and exceedingly distasteful recollections of Mr. Bunker.
"That man! Are
they still acquainted?"
"Acquainted -- oh
yes; but I give Rudolph credit for more sense and more truthfulness than to renew
their friendship."
The Countess pondered
with a very grave expression upon her face, while Alicia gently wiped her eyes
and ardently wished that her honest Rudolph was here to defend his character
and refute these baseless insinuations. At length her mother said with a
brisker air --
"Ah! I know
exactly what we must do. I shall make a point of seeing Sir Justin Wallingford
tomorrow."
"Sir Justin
Wallingford!"
"If anybody can
obtain private information for us he can. We shall soon learn whether the Baron
has been sent to Russia."
Alicia uttered a cry of
protest. Sir Justin, ex- diplomatist, author of a heavy volume of Victorian
reminiscences, and confidant of many public personages, was one of her mother's
oldest friends; but to her he was only one degree less formidable than the
Countess, and quite the last person she would have chosen for consultation upon
this, or indeed upon any other subject.
"I am not going to
intrust my husband's secrets to him!" she exclaimed.
"I am,"
replied the Countess.
"But I won't allow
it! Rudolph would be ---- "
"Rudolph has only
himself to blame. My dear Alicia, you can trust Sir Justin implicitly. When my
child's happiness is at stake I would consult no one who was not discretion
itself. I am very glad I thought of him."
The Baroness burst into
tears.
"My child, my
child!" said her mother compassionately. "The world is no Garden of
Eden, however much we may all try to make it so."
"You -- you don't
se -- seem to be trying now, mamma."
"May Heaven forgive
you, my darling," pronounced the Countess piously.
SIR JUSTIN," said
the Countess firmly, "please tell my daughter exactly what you have
discovered."
Sir Justin Wallingford
sat in the drawing- room at Belgrave Square with one of these ladies on either
side of him. He was a tall, gaunt man with a grizzled black beard, a long nose,
and such a formidably solemn expression that ambitious parents were in the
habit of wishing that their offspring might some day be as wise as Sir Justin Wallingford
looked. His fund of information was prodigious, while his reasoning powers were
so remarkable that he had never been known to commit the slightest action
without furnishing a full and adequate explanation of his conduct. Thus the
discrimination shown by the Countess in choosing him to restore a lady's peace
of mind will at once be apparent.
"The results of my
inquiries," he pronounced, "have been on the whole of a negative
nature. If this mission on which the Baron von Blitzenberg professes to be
employed is in fact of an unusually delicate nature, it is just conceivable
that the answer I received from Prince Gommell-Kinchen, when I sounded him at
the Khalifa's luncheon, may have been intended merely to throw dust in my eyes.
At the same time, his highness appeared to speak with the candor of a man who
has partaken, not excessively, you understand, but I may say freely, of the
pleasures of the table."
He looked steadily
first at one lady and then at the other, to let this point sink in.
"And what did the
Prince say?" asked the Baroness, who, in spite of her supreme confidence
in her husband, showed a certain eager nervousness inseparable from a judicial
inquiry.
"He told me -- I
merely give you his word, and not my own opinion; you perfectly understand
that, Baroness?"
"Oh yes," she
answered hurriedly.
"He informed me
that, in fact, the Baron had been obliged to ask for a fortnight's leave of
absence to attend to some very pressing and private business in connection with
his Silesian estates."
"I think, Alicia,
we may take that as final," said her mother decisively.
"Indeed I
shan't!" cried Alicia warmly. "That was just an excuse, of course.
Rudolph's business is so very delicate that -- that -- well, that you could
only expect Prince Gommell-Kinchen to say something of that sort."
"What do you say
to that, Sir Justin?" demanded the Countess.
With the air of a man
doing what was only his duty, he replied --
"I say that I
think it is improbable. In fact, since you demand to know the truth, I may
inform you that the Prince added that leave of absence was readily given, since
the Baron's diplomatic duties are merely nominal. To quote his own words, `Von
Blitzenberg is a nice fellow, and it pleases the English ladies to play with him.'
"
Even Lady Grillyer was
a trifle taken aback at this description of her son-in-law, while Alicia turned
scarlet with anger.
"I don't believe
he said anything of the sort!" she cried. "You both of you only want
to hurt me and insult Rudolph! I won't stand it!"
She was already on her
feet to leave them, when her mother stopped her, and Sir Justin hastened to
explain.
"No reflection
upon the Baron's character was intended, I assure you. The Prince merely meant
to imply that he represented the social rather than the business side of the
embassy. And both are equally necessary, I assure you -- equally essential,
Baroness, believe me."
"In fact,"
said the Countess, "the remark comes to this, that Rudolph would never be
sent to Russia, whatever else they might expect of him."
Even through their
tears Alicia's eyes brightened with triumph.
"But he has gone,
mamma! I got a letter from him this morning -- from St. Petersburg!"
The satisfaction of her
two physicians on hearing this piece of good news took the form of a start
which might well have been mistaken for mere astonishment, or even for dismay.
"And you did not
tell me of it!" cried her mother.
"Rudolph did not
wish me to. I have only told you now to prove how utterly wrong you both are."
"Let me see this
letter!"
"Indeed, mamma, I
won't!"
The two ladies looked
at one another with such animosity that Sir Justin felt called upon to
interfere.
"Suppose the
Baroness were to read us as much as is necessary to convince us that there is
no possibility of a mistake," he suggested.
So profoundly did the
Countess respect his advice that she graciously waived her maternal rights so
far as actually following the text with her eyes went; while her daughter,
after a little demur, was induced to depart this one step further from her
husband's injunctions.
"You have no
objections to my glancing at the post-mark?" said Sir Justin when this
point was settled.
With a toss of her head
the Baroness silently handed him the envelope.
"It seems correct,"
he observed cautiously.
"But post-marks
can be forged, can't they?" inquired the Countess.
"I fear they
can," he admitted, with a sorrowful air.
Scorning to answer this
insinuation, the Baroness proceeded to read aloud the following extracts
" `I travelled
with comfort through Europe, and having by many countries passed, such as
Germany and others, I arrived, my dear Alicia, in Russia.' "
"Is that all he
says about his journey?" interrupted Lady Grillyer.
"It is certainly a
curiously insufficient description of a particularly interesting route,"
commented Sir Justin.
"It almost seems
as if he didn't know what other countries lie between England and Russia,"
added the Countess.
"It only means
that he knows geography doesn't interest me!" replied Alicia. "And he
does say more about his journey -- `Alone by myself, in a carriage very quietly
I travelled.' And again -- `To be observed not wishing, and strict orders being
given to me, with no man I spoke all the way.' There!"
"That certainly
makes it more difficult to check his statements," Sir Justin admitted.
"Ah, he evidently
thought of that!" said the Countess. "If he had said there was anyone
with him, we could have asked him afterwards who it was. What a pity! Read on,
my child -- we are vastly interested."
Thus encouraged, the
Baroness continued
" `In Russia the
crops are good, and from my window with pleasure I observe them. Petersburg is
a nice town, and I have a pleasant apartment in it!' "
"What!"
exclaimed the Countess. "He is looking at the crops from his window in St.
Petersburg!"
Sir Justin grimly
pursed his lips, but his silence was more ominous than speech. In fact, the
Baron's unfortunate effort at realism by the introduction of his window struck
the first blow at his wife's implicit trust in him. She was evidently a little
disconcerted, though she stoutly declared --
"He is evidently
living in the suburbs, mamma."
"Will you be so
kind as to read on a little farther?" interposed Sir Justin in a grave
voice.
" `The following
reflections have I made. Russia is very large and cold, where people in furs
are to be seen, and sledges. Bombs are thrown sometimes, and the marine is not
good when it does drink too much.' Now, mamma, he must have seen these things
or he wouldn't put them in his letter."
The Baroness broke of
somewhat hurriedly to make this comment, almost indeed as though she felt it to
be necessary. As for her two comforters, they looked at one another with so
much sorrow that their eyes gleamed and their lips appeared to smile.
"The Baron did not
write that letter in Russia," said Sir Justin decisively. "Furs are
not worn in summer, nor do the inhabitants travel in sledges at this time of
the year."
"But -- but he
doesn't say he actually saw them," pleaded the Baroness.
"Then that remark,
just like the rest of his reflections, makes utter nonsense," rejoined her
mother.
"Is that
all?" inquired Sir Justin.
"Almost all -- all
that is important," faltered the Baroness.
"Let us hear the
rest," said her mother inexorably.
"There is only a
postscript, and that merely says -- `The flask that you filled I thank you for;
it was so large that it was sufficient for ---- ' I can't read the last
word."
"Let me see it,
Alicia."
A few minutes ago
Alicia would have torn the precious letter up rather than let another eye fall
upon it. That her devotion was a little disturbed was proved by her allowing
her two advisers to study even a single sentence. Keeping her hand over the
rest, she showed it to them. They bent their brows, and then simultaneously
exclaimed --
" `Us both!'
"
"Oh, it can't
be!" cried the poor Baroness.
"It is absolutely
certain," said her mother in a terrible voice -- " `It was so large
that it was sufficient for us both!' "
"There is no doubt
about it," corroborated Sir Justin sternly. "The unfortunate young
man has inadvertently confessed his deception."
"It cannot
be!" murmured the Baroness. "He said at the beginning that he
travelled quite alone."
"That is precisely
what condemns him," said her mother.
"Precisely,"
reiterated Sir Justin.
The Baroness audibly
sobbed, while the two patchers of her peace of mind gazed at her commiserately.
"What am I to
do?" she asked at length. "I can't believe he really ---- But how am
I to find out?"
"I shall make
further investigations," promptly replied Sir Justin.
"And I also,"
added the Countess.
"Meanwhile,"
said Sir Justin, "we shall be exceedingly interested to learn what further
particulars of his wanderings the Baron supplies you with."
"Yes,"
observed the Countess, "he can fortunately be trusted to betray himself.
You will inform me, Alicia, as soon as you hear from him again."
Her daughter made no
reply.
Sir Justin rose and
bade them a grave farewell.
"In my daughter's
name I thank you cordially," said the Countess, as she pressed his hand.
"Anything I have
done has been a pleasure to me," he assured them with a sincerity there
was no mistaking.
IN an ancient and
delightful garden, where glimpses of the loch below gleamed through a mass of
summer foliage, and the gray castle walls looked down on smooth, green glades,
the Baron slowly paced the shaven turf. But he did not pace it quite alone, for
by his side moved a graceful figure in a wide, sun-shading hat and a frock
entirely irresistible. Beneath the hat, by bending a little down, you could
have seen the dark liquid eyes and tender lips of Eva Gallosh. And the Baron
frequently bent down.
"I am proud of
everyzing zat I find in my home," said the Baron gallantly.
The lady's color rose,
but not apparently in anger.
"Ach, here is a
pretty leetle seat!" he exclaimed in a tone of pleased discovery, just as
though he had not been leading her insidiously towards it ever since they, came
into the garden.
It was, indeed, a most
shady and secluded bench, an ideal seat for any gallant young Baron who had
left his Baroness sufficiently far away. He glanced down complacently upon his
brawny knees, displayed (he could not but think) to great advantage beneath his
kilt and sporran, and then with a tenderer complacency, turned his gaze upon
his fair companion.
"You say you like
me in ze tartan?" he murmured.
"I adore
everything Highland! Oh, Lord Tulliwuddle, how fortunate you are!"
Nature had gifted Miss
Gallosh with a generous share of romantic sentiment. It was she who had egged
on her father to rent this Highland castle for the summer, instead of
chartering a yacht as he had done for the past few years; and ever since they
had come here that sentiment had grown, till she was ready to don the white
cockade and plot a new Jacobite uprising. Then, while her heart was in this
inspired condition, a noble young chief had stepped in to complete the story.
No wonder her dark eyes burned.
"What attachment
you must feel for each stone of the Castle!" she continued in a rapt
voice. "How your heart must beat to remember that your great- grandfather
-- wasn't his name Fergus?"
"Fergus:
yes," said the Baron, blindly but promptly.
"No, no; it was
Ian, of course."
"Ach, so! Ian he
vas."
"You were thinking
of his father," she smiled.
"Yes, his
fazzer."
She reflected sagely.
"I am afraid I get
my facts mixed up some times. Ian -- ah, Reginald came before him -- not
Fergus!"
"Reginald -- oh
yes, so he did!"
She looked a trifle
disappointed.
"If I were you I
should know them all by heart," said she.
"I vill learn zem.
Oh yes, I most not make soch mistakes."
Indeed he registered a
very sincere vow to study his family history that afternoon.
"What was I
saying? Oh yes -- about your brave great-grandfather. Do you know, Lord
Tulliwuddle, I want to ask you a strange favor? You won't think it very odd of
me?"
"Odd? Never!
Already it is granted."
"I want to hear
from your own lips -- from the lips of an actual Lord Tulliwuddle -- the story
of your ancestor Ian's exploit."
With beseeching eyes
and a face flushed with a sense of her presumption, she uttered this request in
a voice that tore the Baron with conflicting emotions.
"Vich exploit do
you mean?" he asked in a kindly voice but with a troubled eye.
"You must know!
When he defended the pass, of course."
"Ach, so!"
The Baron looked at
her, and though he boasted of no such inventive gifts as his friend Bunker, his
ardent heart bade him rather commit himself to perdition than refuse.
"You will tell it
to me?"
"I vill!"
Making as much as
possible of the raconteur's privileges of clearing his throat, settling himself
into good position, and gazing dreamily at the tree-tops for inspiration, he
began in a slow, measured voice --
"In ze pass he
stood. Zen gomed his enemies. He fired his gon and shooted some dead. Zen did
zey run avay. Zat vas vat happened."
When he ventured to
meet her candid gaze after thus lamely libelling his forefather, he was
horrified to observe that she had already recoiled some feet away from him, and
seemed still to be in the act of recoiling.
"It would have
been kinder to tell me at once that I had asked too much!" she exclaimed
in a voice affected by several emotions. "I only wanted to hear you repeat
his death-cry as his foes slew him, so that it might always seem more real to
me. And you snub me like this!"
The Baron threw himself
upon one knee.
"Forgive me! I did
jost lose mine head mit your eyes looking so at me! I get confused, you are so
lovely! I did not mean to snob!"
In the ardor of his
penitence he discovered himself holding her hand; she no longer seemed to be
recoiling; and Heaven knows what might have happened next if an ostentatious
sound of whistling had not come to their rescue.
"Bot you vill
forgive?" he whispered, as they sprang up from their shady seat.
"Ye-es," she
answered, just as the serene glance of Count Bunker fell humorously upon them.
"You seem to have
been plucking flowers, Tulliwuddle," he observed.
"Flowers? Oh,
no."
The Count glanced
pointedly at his soiled knee.
"Indeed!"
said he. "Don't I see traces of a flower-bed?"
"I think I should
go in," murmured Eva, and she was gone before the Count had time to frame
a compensating speech.
His friend Tulliwuddle
looked at him with marked displeasure, yet seemed to find some difficulty in
adequately expressing it.
"I do not care for
vat you said," he remarked stiffly. "Nor for ze look now on your
face."
"Baron," said
the Count imperturbably, "what did you tell me the Wraith said to you --
something about `Beware of the ladies,' wasn't it?"
"You do not
onderstand. Ze ghost" (he found some difficulty in pronouncing the
spirit's chosen name) "did soppose naturally zat I vas ze real Lord
Tollyvoddle, who is, as you have told me yourself, Bonker, somezing of a fast
fish. Ze varning vas to him obviously, so you should not turn it upon me."
Bunker opened his eyes.
"A deuced
ingenious argument," he commented. "It wouldn't have occurred to me
if you hadn't explained. Then you claim the privilege of wooing whom you
wish?"
"Wooing! You
forget zat I am married, Bonker."
"Oh no, I remember
perfectly."
His tone disturbed the
Baron. Taking the Count's arm, he said to him with moving earnestness --
"Have I not told
you how constant I am -- like ze magnet and ze pole?"
"I have heard you
employ the simile."
"Ach, bot it is
true! I am inside my heart so constant as it is possible! But I now represent
Tollyvoddle, and for his sake most try to do my best."
Again Count Bunker
glanced at his knee.
"And that is your
best, then?"
"Listen, Bonker,
and try to onderstand -- not jost to make jokes. It appears to me zat Miss
Gallosh vill make a good vife to Tollyvoddle. She is so fair, so amiable, and
so rich. Could he do better? Should I not lay ze foundations of a happy marriage
mit her? Soppose ve do get her instead of Miss Maddison, eh?"
His artful eloquence
seemed to impress his friend, for he smiled thoughtfully and did not reply at
once. More persuasively than ever the Baron continued --
"I do believe mit
patience and mit -- er -- mit kindness, Bonker, I might persuade Miss Gallosh
to listen to ze proposal of Tollyvoddle. And vould it not be better far to get
him a lady of his own people, and not a stranger from America? Ve vill not like
Miss Maddison, I feel sure. Vy troble mit her -- eh, Bonker?"
"But don't you
think, Baron, that we ought to give Tulliwuddle his choice? He may prefer an
American heiress to a Scottish."
"Not if he sees
Eva Gallosh!"
Again the Count gently
raised his eyebrows in a way that the Baron could not help considering
unsuitable to the occasion.
"On the other
hand, Baron, Miss Maddison will probably have five or ten times as much money
as Miss Gallosh. In arranging a marriage for another man, one must attend to
such trifles as a few million dollars more or less."
For the moment the
Baron was silenced, but evidently not convinced.
"Supposing I were
to call upon the Maddisons as your envoy?" suggested Bunker, who, to tell
the truth, had already begun to tire of a life of luxurious inaction.
"Pairhaps in a few
days we might gonsider it."
"We have been here
for a week already."
"Ven vould you
call?"
"To-morrow, for
instance."
The Baron frowned; but
argument was difficult.
"You only jost
vill go to see?"
"And report to
you."
"And suppose she
is ogly -- or not so nice -- or so on ---- zen vill I not see her, eh?"
"But suppose she
is tolerable?"
"Zen vill ve give
him a choice, and I vill continue to be polite to Miss Gallosh. Ah, Bonker, she
is so nice! He vill not like Miss Maddison so vell! Himmel, I do admire
her!"
The Baron's eyes shone
with reminiscent affection.
"To how many poles
is the magnet usually constant?" inquired the Count with a serious air.
The Baron smiled a
little foolishly, and then, with a confidential air, replied --
"Ach, Bonker,
marriage is blessed and it is happy, and it is everyzing that my heart desires;
only I jost sometimes vish it vas not qvite -- qvite so uninterruptable!"
IN a dog-cart borrowed
from his obliging host, Count Bunker approached the present residence of Mr.
Darius P. Maddison. He saw, and -- in his client's interest -- noted with
approval the efforts that were being made to convert an ordinary fishing-lodge
into a suitable retreat for a gentleman worth so many million dollars.
"Corryvohr," as the house was originally styled, or "Lincoln
Lodge," as the patriotic Silver King had re-named it, had already been
enlarged for his reception by the addition of four complete suites of
apartments, each suitable for a nobleman and his retinue, an organ hall, 10,000
cubic yards of scullery accommodation, and a billiard-room containing three
tables. But since he had taken up his residence there he had discovered the
lack of several other essentials for a quiet "mountain life" (as he
appropriately phrased it), and these defects were rapidly being remedied as our
friend drove up. The conservatory was already completed, with the exception of
the orchid and palm houses; the aviary was practically ready, and several
crates of the rarer humming-birds were expected per goods train that evening;
while a staff of electricians could be seen erecting the private telephone by
which Mr. Maddison proposed to keep himself in touch with the silver market.
The Count had no sooner
pressed the electric bell than a number of men-servants appeared, sufficient to
conduct him in safety to a handsome library fitted with polished walnut, and
carpeted as softly as the moss on a mountain-side. Having sent in his card, he
entertained himself by gazing out of the window and wondering what strange
operation was being conducted on a slope above the house, where a grove of
pines were apparently being rocked to and fro by a concourse of men with poles
and pulleys. But he had not to wait long, for with a promptitude that gave one
some inkling of the secret of Mr. Maddison's business success, the millionaire
entered.
In a rapid survey the
Count perceived a tall man in the neighborhood of sixty: gray-haired,
gray-eyed, and gray-faced. The clean-shaved and well-cut profile included the
massive foundation of jaw which Bunker had confidently anticipated, and though
his words sounded florid in a European ear, they were uttered in a voice that
corresponded excellently with this predominant chin.
"I am very pleased
to see you, sir, very pleased indeed," he assured the Count not once but
several times, shaking him heartily by the hand and eyeing him with a glance
accustomed to foresee several days before his fellows the probable fluctuations
in the price of anything.
"I have taken the
liberty of calling upon you in the capacity of Lord Tulliwuddle's confidential
friend," the Count began. "He is at present, as you may perhaps have
learned, visiting his ancestral possessions ---- "
"My dear sir, for
some days we have been expecting his lordship and yourself to honor us with a
visit," Mr. Maddison interposed. "You need not trouble to introduce
yourself. The name of Count Bunker is already familiar to us."
He bowed ceremoniously
as he spoke, and the Count with no less politeness laid his hand upon his heart
and bowed also.
"I looked forward
to the meeting with pleasure," he replied. "But it has already
exceeded my anticipations."
He would have still
further elaborated these assurances, but with his invariable tact he perceived
a shrewd look in the millionaire's eye that warned him he had to do with a man
accustomed to flowery preliminaries from the astutest manipulators of a deal.
"I am only sorry
you should find our little cottage in such disorder," said Mr. Maddison.
"The contractor for the conservatory undertook to erect it in a week, and
my only satisfaction is that he is now paying me a forfeit of 500 dollars a
day. As for the electricians in this country, sir, they are not incompetent
men, but they must be taught to hustle if they are to work under American
orders; and I don't quite see how they are to find a job anyways else."
He turned to the window
with a more satisfied air.
"Here, however,
you will perceive a tolerably satisfactory piece of work. I guess those trees
will be ready pretty near as soon as the capercailzies are ready for
them."
Count Bunker opened his
eyes.
"Do I understand
that you are erecting a pine wood?"
"You do. That fir
forest is my daughter's notion. She thought ordinary plane-trees looked kind of
unsuitable for our mountain home. The land of Burns and of the ill-fated
Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, should have more appropriate foliage than that! Well,
sir, it took four hundred men just three days to remove the last traces of the
last root of the last of those plane-trees."
"And the pines, I
suppose, you brought from a neighboring wood?" said the Count,
patriotically endeavoring not to look too dumbfoundered.
"No, sir. Lord
Tulliwuddle's factor was too slow for me -- said he must consult his lordship
before removing the timber on the estate. I cabled to Norway: the trees arrived
yesterday in Aberdeen, and I guess half of them are as near perpendicular by
now as a theodolite can make them. They are being erected, sir, on scientific
principles."
Restraining his emotion
with a severe effort, Bunker quietly observed
"Very good idea. I
don't know that it would have occurred to me to land them at Aberdeen."
From the corner of his
eye he saw that his composure had produced a distinct impression, but he found
it hard to retain it through the Silver King's next statement.
"You have taken a
long lease of Lincoln Lodge, I presume?" he inquired.
"One year,"
said Mr. Maddison. "But I reckon to be comfortable if I'm spending twenty
minutes at a railroad junction."
"Ah!"
responded the Count, "in that case shifting a forest must be
child's-play."
The millionaire smiled
affably at this pleasantry and invited his guest to be seated.
"You will try
something American, I hope, Count Bunker?" he asked, touching the bell.
Count Bunker, rightly
conceiving this to indicate a cock-tail, replied that he would, and in as
nearly seven and a half seconds as he could calculate, a tray appeared with two
of these remarkable compounds. Following his host's example, the Count threw
his down at a gulp.
"The same,"
said Mr. Maddison simply. And in an almost equally brief space the same
arrived.
"Now," said
he, when they were alone again, "I hope you will pardon me, Count, if I am
discourteous enough to tell you that my time is uncomfortably cramped. When I
first came here I found that I was expected to stand upon the shore of the
river for two hours on the chance of catching one salmon. But I have changed
all that. As soon as I step outside my door, my ghillie brings me my rod, and
if there ain't a salmon at the end for me to land, another ghillie will receive
his salary. Since lunch I have caught a fish, despatched fifteen cablegrams,
and dictated nine letters. I am only on holiday here, and if I don't get
through double that amount in the next two hours I scarcely see my way to do
much more fishing to-day. That being so, let us come right to the point. You
bring some kind of proposition from Lord Tulliwuddle, I guess?"
During his drive the
Count had cogitated over a number of judicious methods of opening the delicate
business; but his adaptability was equal to the occasion. In as business-like a
tone as his host, he replied --
"You are quite
right, Mr. Maddison. Lord Tulliwuddle has deputed me to open negotiations for a
certain matrimonial project."
Mr. Maddison's
expression showed his appreciation of this candor and delicacy.
"Well," said
he, "to be quite frank, Count, I should have thought all the better of his
lordship if he had been a little more prompt about the business."
"It is not through
want of admiration for Miss Maddison, I assure you ---- "
"No,"
interrupted Mr. Maddison, "it is because he does not realize the value of
time -- which is considerably more valuable than admiration, I can assure you.
Since I discussed the matter with Lord Tulliwuddle's aunt we have had several
more buyers -- I should say, suitors -- in the market -- er -- in the field, Count
Bunker. But so far, fortunately for his lordship, my Eleanor has not approved
of the samples sent, and if he still cares to come forward we shall be pleased
to consider his proposition."
The millionaire looked
at him out of an impenetrable eye; and the Count in an equally guarded tone
replied
"I greatly approve
of putting things on so sound a footing, and with equal frankness I may tell
you -- in confidence, of course -- that Lord Tulliwuddle also is not without
alternatives. He would, however, prefer to offer his title and estates to Miss
Maddison, provided that there is no personal objection to be found on either
side."
Mr. Maddison's eye
brightened and his tone warmed.
"Sir," said
he, "I guess there won't be much objection to Eleanor Maddison when your
friend has seen her. Without exaggeration, I may say that she is the most
beautiful girl in America, and that is to say, the most beautiful girl
anywhere. The precise amount of her fortune we can discuss, supposing the
necessity arrives: but I can assure you it will be sufficient to set three of
your mortgaged British aristocrats upon their legs again. No, sir, the
objection will not come from that side!"
With a gentle smile and
a deprecatory gesture the Count answered, "I am convinced that Miss Maddison
is all -- indeed, more than all -- your eloquence has painted. On the other
hand, I trust that you will not be disappointed in my friend Tulliwuddle."
Mr. Maddison crossed
his legs and interlocked his fingers like a man about to air his views. This,
in fact, was what he proceeded to do.
"My opinion of
aristocracies and the pampered individuals who compose them is the opinion of
an intelligent and enlightened democrat. I see them from the vantage-ground of
a man who has made his own way in the world unhampered by ancestry, who has
dwelt in a country fortunately unencumbered by such hindrances to progress, and
who has no personal knowledge of their defects. You will admit that I speak
with unusual opportunities of forming a judgment?"
"You should have
the impartiality of a missionary," said Bunker gravely.
"That is so, sir.
Now, in proposing to marry my daughter to a member of this class, I am actuated
solely by a desire to take advantage of the opportunities such an alliance
would confer. I am still perfectly clear?"
"Perfectly,"
replied Bunker, with the same profound gravity.
"In
consequence," resumed the millionaire, with the impressiveness of a
logician drawing a conclusion from two irrefutable premises -- "in
consequence, Count Bunker, I demand -- and my daughter demands -- and my son
demands, sir, that the nobleman should possess an unusual number of high-class,
fire-proof, expert- guaranteed qualities. That is only fair, you must
admit?"
"I agree with you
entirely."
Mr. Maddison glanced at
the clock and sprang to his feet.
"I have not the
pleasure of knowing my neighbor, Mr. Gallosh," he said, resuming his brisk
business tone; "but I beg you to convey to him and to his wife and
daughter my compliments -- and my daughter's compliments -- and tell them that
we hope they will excuse ceremony and bring Lord Tulliwuddle to luncheon
to-morrow."
Count Bunker expressed
his readiness to carry this message, and the millionaire even more briskly
resumed --
"I shall now give
myself the pleasure of presenting you to my son and daughter."
With his swiftest
strides he escorted his distinguished guest to another room, flung the door
open, announced, "My dears, Count Bunker!" and pressed the Count's
hand even as he was effecting this introduction.
"Very pleased to
have met you, Count. Good day," he ejaculated, and vanished on the
instant.
RAISING his eyes after
the profound bow which the Count considered appropriate to his character of
plenipotentiary, he beheld at last the object of his mission; and whether or
not she was the absolutely peerless beauty her father had vaunted, he at once decided
that she was lovely enough to grace Hechnahoul, or any other, Castle. Black
eyes and a mass of coal-black hair, an ivory pale skin, small well-chiselled
features, and that distinctively American plumpness of contour -- these marked
her face; while as for her figure, it was the envy of her women friends and the
distraction of all mankind who saw her.
"Fortunate
Baron!" thought Bunker.
Beside her, though
sufficiently in the rear to mark the relative position of the sexes in the
society they adorned, stood Darius P. Maddison, junior -- or "Ri," in
the phrase of his relatives and friends -- a broad- shouldered, well-featured
young man, with keen eyes, a mouth compressed with the stern resolve to die
richer than Mr. Rockefeller, and a pair of perfectly ironed trousers.
"I am very
delighted to meet you," declared the heiress.
"Very honored to
have this pleasure," said the brother.
"While I enjoy
both sensations," replied the Count, with his most agreeable smile.
A little preliminary
conversation ensued, in the course of which the two parties felt an increasing
satisfaction in one another's society; while Bunker had the further pleasure of
enjoying a survey of the room in which they sat. Evidently it was Miss
Maddison's peculiar sanctum, and it revealed at once her taste and her power of
gratifying it. The tapestry that covered two sides of the room could be seen at
a glance to be no mere modern imitation, but a priceless relic of the earlier
middle ages. The other walls were so thickly hung with pictures that one could
scarcely see the pale- green satin beneath; and among these paintings the
Count's educated eye recognized the work of Raphael, Botticelli, Turner, and
Gainsborough among other masters; while beneath the cornice hung a well-chosen
selection from the gems of the modern Anglo-American school. The chairs and
sofa were upholstered in a figured satin of a slightly richer hue of green, and
on several priceless oriental tables lay displayed in ivory, silver, crystal,
and alabaster more articles of vertu than were to be found in the entire house
of an average collector.
"Fortunate
Tulliwuddle!" thought Bunker.
They had been
conversing on general topics for a few minutes, when Miss Maddison turned to
her brother and said, with a frankness that both pleased and entertained the
Count --
"Ri, dear, don't
you think we had better come right straight to the point? I feel sure Count
Bunker is only waiting till he knows us a little better, and I guess it will
save him considerable embarrassment if we begin."
"You are the best
judge, Eleanor. I guess your notions are never far of being all right."
With a gratified smile
Eleanor addressed the Count.
"My brother and I
are affinities," she said. "You can speak to him just as openly as
you can to me. What is fit for me to hear is fit for him."
Assuring her that he
would not hesitate to act upon this guarantee if necessary, the Count
nevertheless diplomatically suggested that he would sooner leave it to the lady
to open the discussion.
"Well," she said,
"I suppose we may presume you have called here as Lord Tulliwuddle's
friend?"
"You may, Miss
Maddison."
"And no doubt he
has something pretty definite to suggest?"
"Matrimony,"
smiled the Count.
Her brother threw him a
stern smile of approval.
"That's right
slick there!" he exclaimed.
"Lord Tulliwuddle
has made a very happy selection in his ambassador," said Eleanor, with
equal cordiality. "People who are afraid to come to facts tire me. No doubt
you will think it strange and forward of me to talk in this spirit, Count, but
if you'd had to go through the worry of being an American heiress in a European
state you would sympathize. Why, I'm hardly ever left in peace for twenty-four
hours -- am I, Ri?"
"That is so,"
quoth Ri.
"What would you
guess my age to be, Count Bunker?"
"Twenty-one,"
suggested Bunker, subtracting two or three years on general principles.
"Well, you're
nearer it than most people. Nineteen on my last birthday, Count!"
The Count murmured his
surprise and pleasure, and Ri again declared, "That is so."
"And it isn't the
American climate that ages one, but the terrible persecutions of the British
aristocracy! I can be as romantic as any girl, Count Bunker; why, Ri, you remember
poor Abe Sellar and the stolen shoe-lace?"
"Guess I do!"
said Ri.
"That was a
romance if ever there was one! But I tell you, Count, sentiment gets rubbed off
pretty quick when you come to a bankrupt Marquis writing three ill-spelled
sheets to assure me of the disinterested affection inspired by my photograph,
or a divorced Duke offering to read Tennyson to me if I'll hire a punt!"
"I can well
believe it," said the Count sympathetically.
"Well, now,"
the heiress resumed, with a candid smile that made her cynicism become her
charmingly, "you see how it is. I want a man one can respect, even if he
is a peer. He may have as many titles as dad has dollars, but he must be a
man!"
"That is so,"
said Ri, with additional emphasis.
"I can guarantee
Lord Tulliwuddle as a model for a sculptor and an eligible candidate for
canonization," declared the Count.
"I guess we want
something grittier than that," said Ri.
"And what there is
of it sounds almost too good news to be true," added his sister. "I
don't want a man like a stained-glass window, Count; because for one thing I
couldn't get him."
"If you specify
your requirements we shall do our best to satisfy you," replied the Count
imperturbably.
"Well, now,"
said Eleanor thoughtfully, "I may just as well tell you that if I'm going
to take a peer -- and I must own peers are rather my fancy at present -- it was
Mohammedan pashas last year, wasn't it, Ri?" ("That is so," from
Ri.) -- "If I am going to take a peer, I must have a man that looks a peer.
I've been plagued with so many undersized and round- shouldered noblemen that
I'm beginning to wonder whether the aristocracy gets proper nourishment. How
tall is Lord Tulliwuddle?"
"Six feet and half
an inch."
"That's something
more like!" said Ri; and his sister smiled her acquiescence.
"And does he weigh
up to it?" she inquired.
"Fourteen, twelve,
and three-quarters."
"What's that in
pounds, Ri? We don't count people in stones in America."
A tense frown, a
nervous twitching of the lip, and in an instant the young financier produced
the answer
"Two hundred and
nine pounds all but four ounces."
"Well," said
Eleanor, "it all depends on how he holds himself. That's a lot to carry
for a young man."
"He holds himself
like one of his native pine-trees, Miss Maddison!"
She clapped her hands.
"Now I call that
just a lovely metaphor, Count Bunker!" she cried. "Oh, if he's going
to look like a pine, and walk like the pipers at the Torrydhulish gathering,
and really be a chief like Fergus MacIvor or Roderick Dhu, I do believe I'll
actually fall in love with him!"
"Say, Count,"
interposed Ri, "I guess we've heard he's half German."
"It was indeed in
Germany that he learned his thorough grasp of politics, statesmanship,
business, and finance, and acquired his lofty ambitions and indomitable
perseverance."
"He'll do,
Eleanor," said the young man. "That's to say, if he is anything like
the prospectus."
His sister made no
immediate reply. She seemed to be musing -- and not unpleasantly.
At that moment a motor
car passed the window.
"My!"
exclaimed Eleanor, "I'd quite forgot! That will be to take the Honorable
Stanley to the station. We must say good-by to him, I suppose"
She turned to the Count
and added in explanation --
"The last to apply
was the Honorable Stanley Pilkington -- Lord Didcott's heir, you know. Oh, if
you could see him, you'd realize what I've had to go through!"
Even as she spoke he
was given the opportunity, for the door somewhat diffidently opened and an
unhappy- looking young man came slowly into the room. He was clearly to be
classified among the round-shouldered ineligibles; being otherwise a tall and
slender youth, with an amiable expression and a smoothly well-bred voice.
"I've come to say
good-by, Miss Maddison," he said, with a mournful air. "I -- I've
enjoyed my visit very much," he added, as he timidly shook her hand.
"So glad you have,
Mr. Pilkington," she replied cordially. "It has been a very great
pleasure to entertain you. Our friend Count Bunker -- Mr. Pilkington."
The young man bowed
with a look in his eye that clearly said --
"The nest
candidate, I perceive."
Then having said
good-by to Ri, the Count heard him murmur to Eleanor --
"Couldn't you --
er -- couldn't you just manage to see me of?"
"With very great
pleasure!" she replied in a hearty voice that seemed curiously enough
rather to damp than cheer his drooping spirits.
No sooner had they left
the room together than Darius, junior, turned energetically to his guest, and
said in a voice ringing with pride --
"You may not
believe me, Count, but I assure you that is the third fellow she has seen to
the door inside a fortnight! One Duke, one Viscount -- who will expand into
something more considerable some day -- and this Honorable Pilkington! Your
friend, sir, will be a fortunate man if he is able to please my sister."
"She seems,
indeed, a charming girl."
"Charming! She is
an angel in human form! And I, sir, her brother, will see to it that she is not
deceived in the man she chooses -- not if I can help it!"
The young man said this
with such an air as Bunker supposed his forefathers to have worn when they
hurled the tea into Boston harbor.
"I trust that Lord
Tulliwuddle, at least, will not fall under your displeasure, sir," he
replied with an air of sincere conviction that exactly echoed his thoughts.
"Oh, Ri!"
cried Eleanor, running back into the room, "he was so sweet as he said
good-by in the hall that I nearly kissed him! I would have, only it might have
made him foolish again. But did you see his shoulders, Count! And oh, to think
of marrying a gentle thing like that! Is Lord Tulliwuddle a firm man, Count
Bunker?"
"Adamant -- when
in the right," the Count assured her.
A renewed air of happy
musing in her eyes warned him that he had probably said exactly enough, and
with the happiest mean betwixt deference and dignity he bade them farewell.
"Then, Count, we
shall see you all to-morrow," said Eleanor as they parted. "Please
tell your hosts that I am very greatly looking forward to the pleasure of
knowing them. There is a Miss Gallosh, isn't there?"
The Count informed her
that there was in fact such a lady.
"That is very good
news for me! I need a girl friend very badly, Count; these proposals lose half
their fun with only Ri to tell them to. I intend to make a confidante of Miss
Gallosh on the spot!"
"H'm,"
thought the Count, as he drove away, "I wonder whether she will."
AS the plenipotentiary
approached the Castle he was somewhat surprised to pass a dog-cart containing
not only his fellow-guest, Mr. Cromarty-Gow, but Mr. Gow's luggage also, and
although he had hitherto taken no particular interest in that gentleman, yet
being gifted with the true adventurer's instinct for promptly investigating any
unusual circumstance, he sought his host as soon as he reached the house, with
a view to putting a careless question or two. For no one, he felt sure, had
been expected to leave for a few days to come.
"Yes," said
Mr. Gallosh, "the young spark's off verra suddenly. We didn't expect him
to be leaving before Tuesday. But -- well, the fact is -- umh'm -- oh, it's
nothing to speak off."
This reticence,
however, was easily cajoled away by the insidious Count, and at last Mr.
Gallosh frankly confided to him --
"Well, Count,
between you and me he seems to have had a kind of fancy for my daughter Eva,
and then his lordship coming -- well, you'll see for yourself how it was."
"He considered his
chances lessened?"
"He told Rentoul
they were clean gone."
Count Bunker looked
decidedly serious.
"The devil!"
he reflected. "The Baron is exceeding his commission. Tulliwuddle is a
brisk young fellow, but to commit him to two marriages is neither Christian nor
kind. And, without possessing the Baron's remarkable enthusiasm for the sex, I
feel sorry for whichever lady is not chosen to cut the cake."
He inquired for his
friend, and was somewhat relieved to learn that though he had gone out on the
loch with Miss Gallosh, they had been accompanied by her brothers and sisters.
"We still have
half an hour before dressing," he said. "I shall stroll down and meet
them."
His creditable anxiety
returned when, upon the path to the loch shore, he met the two Masters and the
two younger Misses Gallosh returning without their sister.
"Been in different
boats, have you?" said he, after they had explained this curious
circumstance; "well, I hope you all had a good sail."
To himself he uttered a
less philosophical comment, and quickened his stride perceptibly. He reached
the shore, but far or near was never a sign of boat upon the waters.
"Have they gone
down!" he thought.
Just then he became
aware of a sound arising from beneath the wooded bank a short distance away. It
was evidently intended to be muffled, but the Baron's lungs were powerful, and
there was no mistaking his deep voice as he sang --
" `My loff she's like a red, red rose Zat's newly sprong in June!
My loff she's like a melody Zat's sveetly blayed in tune! Ach, how does he end?"
Before his charmer had
time to prompt him, the Count raised his own tolerably musical voice and
replied --
" `And fare thee weel, my second string! And fare thee weel awhile!
I won t come back again, my love, For tis ower mony mile! For an instant there followed a
profound silence, and then the voice of the Baron replied, with somewhat forced
mirth --
"Vary goot,
Bonker! Ha, ha! Vary goot!"
Meanwhile Bunker, without
further delay, was pushing his way through a tangle of shrubbery till in a
moment he spied the boat moored beneath the leafy bank, and although it was a
capacious craft he observed that its two occupants were both crowded into one
end.
"I am sent to escort
you back to dinner," he said blandly.
"Tell zem ve shall
be back in three minutes," replied the Baron, making a prodigious show of
preparation for coming ashore.
"I am sorry to say
that my orders were strictly to escort, not to herald you," said the Count
apologetically.
Fortifying himself
against unpopularity by the consciousness that he was doing his duty, this
well- principled, even if spurious, nobleman paced back towards the house with
the lady between him and the indignant Baron.
"Well,
Tulliwuddle," he discoursed, in as friendly a tone as ever, "I left
your cards with our American neighbors."
"So?"
muttered the Baron stolidly.
"They received me
with open arms, and I have taken the liberty of accepting on behalf of Mr.,
Mrs., and Miss Gallosh, and of our two selves, a very cordial invitation to
lunch with them to-morrow."
"Impossible!"
cried the Baron gruffly.
Eva turned a
reproachful eye upon him.
"Oh, Lord
Tulliwuddle! I should so like to go."
The Baron looked at her
blankly.
"You vould!"
"I have heard they
are such nice people, and have such a beautiful place!"
"I can confirm
both statements," said the Count heartily.
"Besides, papa and
mamma would be very disappointed if we didn't go."
"Make it as you
please," said the Baron gloomily.
His unsuspicious hosts
heard of the invitation with such outspoken pleasure that their honored guest
could not well renew his protest. He had to suffer the arrangement to be made;
but that night when he and Bunker withdrew to their own room, the Count
perceived the makings of an argumentative evening.
"Sometimes you
interfere too moch," the Baron began without preamble.
"Do you mind being
a little more specific?" replied the Count with smiling composure.
"Zere vas no hurry
to lonch mit Maddison."
"I didn't name the
date."
"You might have
said next veek."
"By next week Miss
Maddison may be snapped up by some one else."
"Zen vould
Tollyvoddle be more lucky! I have nearly got for him ze most charming girl, mit
as moch money as he vants. Ach, you do interfere! You should gonsider ze
happiness of Tollyvoddle."
"That is the only
consideration that affects yourself, Baron?"
"Of course! I
cannot marry more zan vonce." (Bunker thought he perceived a symptom of a
sigh.) "And I most be faithful to Alicia. I most! Ach, yes, Bonker, do not
fear for me! I am so constant as -- ach, I most keep faithful!"
As he supplied this
remarkable testimony to his own fidelity, the Baron paced the floor with an
agitation that clearly showed how firmly his constancy was based.
Nevertheless the Count
was smiling oddly at something he espied upon the mantelpiece, and stepping up
to it he observed --
"Here is a
singular phenomenon -- a bunch of white heather that has got itself tied together
with ribbon!"
The Baron started, and
took the tiny bouquet from his hand, his eyes sparkling with delight.
"It must be a gift
from ---- " he began, and then laid it down again, though his gaze
continued fixed upon it. "How did it gom in?" he mused. "Ach!
she most have brought it herself. How vary nice!"
He turned suddenly and
met his friend's humorous eyes.
"I shall be
faithful, Bonker! You can trust me!" he exclaimed; "I shall put it in
my letter to Alicia, and send it mit my love! See, Bonker!"
He took a letter from
his desk -- its envelope still open -- hurriedly slipped in the white heather,
and licked the gum while his resolution was hot. Then, having exhibited this
somewhat singular evidence of his constancy, he sighed again.
"It vas ze only
safe vay," he said dolefully. "Vas I not right, Bonker?"
"Quite, my dear
Baron," replied the Count sympathetically. "Believe me, I appreciate
your self-sacrifice. In fact, it was to relieve the strain upon your too
generous heart that I immediately accepted Mr. Maddison's invitation for
to-morrow."
"How so?"
demanded the Baron with perhaps excusable surprise.
"You will be able
to decide at once which is the most suitable bride for Tulliwuddle, and then,
if you like, we can leave in a day or two."
"Bot I do not vish
to leave so soon!"
"Well then, while
you stay, you can at least make sure that you are engaging the affections of
the right girl."
Though Bunker spoke
with an air of desiring merely to assist his friend, the speech seemed to
arouse some furious thinking in the Baron's mind.
For some moments he
made no reply, and then at last, in a troubled voice, he said --
"I have already a
leetle gommitted Tollyvoddle to Eva. Ach, bot not moch! Still it vas a leetle.
Miss Maddison -- vat is she like?"
To the best of his
ability the Count sketched the charms of Eleanor Maddison -- her enthusiasm for
large and manly noblemen, and the probable effects of the Baron's stalwart form
set off by the tartan which (in deference, he declared, to the Wraith's
injunctions) he now invariably wore. Also, he touched upon her father's
colossal fortune, and the genuine Tulliwuddle's necessities.
The Baron listened with
growing interest.
"Vell," he
said, "I soppose I most make a goot impression for ze sake of Tollyvoddle.
For instance, ven we drive up ---- "
"Drive? my dear
Baron, we shall march! Leave it to me; I have a very pretty design shaping in
my head."
"Aha!" smiled
the Baron; "my showman again, eh?"
His expression sobered,
and he added as a final contribution to the debate --
"But I may tell
you, Bonker, I do not eggspect to like Miss Maddison. Ah, my instinct he is
vonderful! It vas my instinct vich said. `Chose Miss Gallosh for Tollyvoddle!'
"
WHILE the Baron was thus
loyally doing his duty, his Baroness, being ignorant of the excellence of his
purpose, and knowing only that he had deceived her in one matter, and that the
descent to Avernus is easy, passed a number of very miserable days. That heart-
breaking "us both" kept her awake at nights and distraught throughout
the day, and when for a little she managed to explain the phrase away, and
tried to anchor her trust in Rudolph once more, the vision of the St.
Petersburg window overlooking the crops would come to shatter her confidence.
She wrote a number of passionate replies, but as the Baron in making his
arrangements with his Russian friend had forgotten to provide him with his
Scotch address, these letters only reached him after the events of this
chronicle had passed into history. Strange to say, her only consolation was
that neither her mother nor Sir Justin was able to supply any further evidence
of any kind whatsoever. One would naturally suppose that the assistance they
had gratuitously given would have made her feel eternally indebted to them;
but, on the contrary, she was actually inconsistent enough to resent their
head-shakings near ly as much as her Rudolph's presumptive infidelity. So that
her lot was indeed to be deplored.
At last a second letter
came, and with trembling fingers, locked in her room, the forsaken lady tore
the curiously bulky envelope apart. Then, at the sight of the enclosure that
had given it this shape, her heart lightened once more.
"A sprig of white
heather!" she cried. "Ah, he loves me still!"
With eager eyes she
next devoured the writing accompanying this token; and as the Baron's head
happened to be clearer when he composed this second epistle, and his friend's
hints peculiarly judicious, it conveyed so plausible an account of his
proceedings, and contained so many expressions of his unaltered esteem, that
his character was completely reinstated in her regard.
Having read every
affectionate sentence thrice over, and given his exceedingly interesting
statements of fact the attention they deserved, she once more took up the
little bouquet and examined it more curiously and intently. She even untied the
ribbon, when, lo and behold! there fell a tiny and tightly folded twist of
paper upon the floor. Preparing herself for a delicious bit of sentiment, she
tenderly unfolded and smoothed it out.
"Verses!" she
exclaimed rapturously; but the next instant her pleasure gave place to a look
of the extremest mystification.
"What does this
mean?" she gasped.
There was, in fact,
some excuse for her perplexity, since the precise text of the enclosure ran
thus: "TO LORD TULLIWUDDLE.
"O Chieftain, trample on this heath Which lies thy springing foot
beneath! It can recover from thy tread, And once again uplift its head! But
spare, O Chief, the tenderer plant, Because when trampled on, it can't! "EVA."
Too confounded for
coherent speculation, the Baroness continued to stare at this baffling
effusion. Who Lord Tulliwuddle and Eva were; why this glimpse into their drama
(for such it appeared to be) should be forwarded to her; and where the Baron
von Blitzenberg came into the story -- these, among a dozen other questions,
flickered chaotically through her mind for some minutes. Again and again she
studied the cryptogram, till at last a few definite conclusions began to
crystallize out of the confusion. That the "tenderer plant"
symbolized the lady herself, that she was a person to be regarded with extreme
suspicion, and that emphatically the bouquet was never originally intended for
the Baroness von Blitzenberg, all became settled convictions. The fact that she
knew Tulliwuddle to be an existing peerage afforded her some relief; yet the
longer she pondered on the problem of Rudolph's part in the episode, the more uneasy
grew her mind.
Composing her face
before the mirror till it resumed its normal round-eyed placidity, she locked
the letter and its contents in a safe place, and sought out her mother.
"Did you get any
letter, dear, by the last post?" inquired the Countess as soon as she had
entered the room.
"Nothing of
importance, mamma."
That so sweet and
docile a daughter should stoop to deceit was inconceivable. The Countess merely
frowned her disappointment and resumed the novel which she was beguiling the
hours between eating and eating again.
"Mamma," said
the Baroness presently, "can you tell me whether heather is found in many
other European countries?"
The Countess raised her
firmly penciled eyebrows.
"In some, I
believe. What a remarkable question, Alicia."
"I was thinking
about Russia," said Alicia with an innocent air. "Do you suppose
heather grows there?"
The Countess remembered
the floral symptoms displayed by Ophelia, and grew a trifle nervous.
"My child, what is
the matter?"
"Oh, nothing,"
replied Alicia hastily.
A short silence
followed, during which she was conscious of undergoing a curious scrutiny.
"By the way,
mamma," she found courage to ask at length, "do you know anything
about Lord Tulliwuddle?"
Lady Grillyer continued
uneasy. These irrelevant questions undoubtedly indicated a mind unhinged.
"I was acquainted
with the late Lord Tulliwuddle."
"Oh, he is dead,
then?"
"Certainly."
Alicia's face clouded
for a moment, and then a ray of hope lit it again.
"Is there a
present Lord Tulliwuddle?"
"I believe so. Why
do you ask?"
"I heard some one
speak of him the other day."
She spoke so naturally
that her mother began to feel relieved.
"Sir Justin
Wallingford can tell you all about the family, if you are curious," she
remarked.
"Sir Justin!"
Alicia recoiled from
the thought of him. But presently her curiosity prevailed, and she inquired --
"Does he know them
well?"
"He inherited a
place in Scotland a number of years ago, you remember. It is somewhere near
Lord Tulliwuddle's place -- Hech -- Hech -- Hech-something-or- other Castle. He
was very well acquainted with the last Tulliwuddle."
"Oh," said
Alicia indifferently, "I am not really interested. It was mere idle
curiosity."
For the greater part of
twenty-four hours she kept this mystery locked within her heart, till at last
she could contain it no longer. The resolution she came to was both desperate
and abruptly taken. At five minutes to three she was resolved to die rather than
mention that sprig of heather to a soul; at five minutes past she was on her
way to Sir Justin Wallingford's house.
"It may be going
behind mamma's back," she said to herself; "but she went behind mine
when she consulted Sir Justin."
It was probably in
consequence of her urgent voice and agitated manner that she came to be shown
straight into Sir Justin's library, without warning on either side, and thus
surprised her counsellor in the act of softly singing a well-known hymn to the
accompaniment of a small harmonium. He seemed for a moment to be a trifle
embarrassed, and the glance he threw at his footman appeared to indicate an
early vacancy in his establishment; but as soon as he had recovered his
customary solemnity his explanation reflected nothing but credit upon his
character.
"The fact
is," said he, "that I am shortly going to rejoin my daughter in
Scotland. You are aware of her disposition, Baroness?"
"I have heard that
she is inclined to be devotional."
"She is
devotional," answered this excellent man. "I have taken considerable
pains to see to it. As your mother and I have often agreed, there is no such
safeguard for a young girl as a hobby or mania of this sort."
"A hobby or
mania?" exclaimed the Baroness in a pained voice.
Sir Justin looked
annoyed. He was evidently surprised to find that the principles inculcated by
his old friend and himself appeared to outlive the occasion for which they were
intended -- to wit, the protection of virgin hearts from undesirable
aspirations till calm reason and a husband should render them unnecessary.
"I use the terms
employed by the philosophical," he hastened to explain; "but my own
opinion is inclined to coincide with yours, my dear Alicia."
This paternal use of
her Christian name, coupled with the kindly tone of his justification,
encouraged the Baroness to open her business.
"Sir Justin,"
she began, "can I trust you -- may I ask you not to tell my mother that I
have visited you?"
"If you can show
me an adequate reason, you may rely upon my discretion," said the
ex-diplomatist cautiously, yet with an encouraging smile.
"In some things
one would sooner confide in a man than a woman, Sir Justin."
"That is
undoubtedly true," he agreed cordially. "You may confide in me,
Baroness."
"I have heard from
my husband again. I need not show you the letter; it is quite satisfactory --
oh, quite, I assure you! Only I found this enclosed with it."
In breathless silence
she watched him examine critically first the heather and then the verses.
"Lord
Tulliwuddle!" he exclaimed. "Is there anything in the Baron's letter
to throw any light upon this?"
"Not one word --
not the slightest hint."
Again he studied the
paper.
"Oh, what does it
mean?" she cried. "I came to you because you know all about the
Tulliwuddles. Where is Lord Tulliwuddle now?"
"I am not
acquainted with the present peer," he ansevered meditatively. "In
fact, I know singularly little about him. I did hear -- yes, I heard from my
daughter some rumor that he was shortly expected to visit his place in
Scotland; but whether he went there or not I cannot say."
"You can find out
for me?"
"I shall lose no
time in ascertaining."
The Baroness thanked
him effusively, and rose to depart with a mind a little comforted.
"And you won't
tell mamma?"
"I never tell a
woman anything that is of any importance."
The Baroness was
confirmed in her opinion that Sir Justin was not a very nice man, but she felt
an increased confidence in his judgment.
FROM the gargoyled keep
which the cultured enthusiasm of Eleanor and the purse of her father had
recently erected at Lincoln Lodge, the brother and sister looked over a bend of
the river, half a mile of valley road, a wave of forest country, and the greater
billows of the bare hillsides towering beyond. But out of all this prospect it
was only upon the stretch of road that their eyes were bent.
"Surely one should
see their carriage soon!" exclaimed Eleanor.
"Seems to
me," said her brother, "that you're sitting something like a cat on
the pounce for this Tulliwuddle fellow. Why, Eleanor, I never saw you so
excited since the first duke came along. I thought that had passed right
off."
"Oh, Ri, I was
reading `Waverley' again last night, and somehow I felt the top of the keep was
the only place to watch for a chief!"
"Why, you don't
expect him to be different from other people?"
"Ri! I tell you
I'll cry if he looks like any one I've ever seen before! Don't you remember the
Count said he moved like a pine in his native forests?"
"He won't make
much headway like that," said Ri incisively. "I'd sooner he moved
like something more spry than a tree. I guess that Count was talking through
his hat."
But his sister was not
to be argued out of her exalted mood by such prosaic reasoning. She exclaimed
at his sluggish imagination, reiterated her faith in the insinuating count's
assurances, and was only withheld from sending her brother down for a spy-glass
by the reflection that she could not remember reading of its employment by any
maiden in analogous circumstances.
It was at this
auspicious moment, when the heart of the expectant heiress was inflamed with
romantic fancies and excited with the suspense of waiting, and before it had
time to cool through any undue delay, that a little cloud of dust first caught
her straining eyes.
"He comes at
last!" she cried.
At the same instant the
faint strains of the pibroch were gently wafted to her embattled tower.
"He is bringing
his piper! Oh, what a duck he is!"
"Seems to me he is
bringing a dozen of them," observed Ri.
"And look, Ri! The
sun is glinting upon steel! Claymores, Ri! oh, how heavenly! There must be
fifty men! And they are still coming! I do believe he has brought the whole
clan!"
Too petrified with
delight to utter another exclamation, she watched in breathless silence the
approach of a procession more formidable than had ever escorted a Tulliwuddle
since the year of Culloden. As they drew nearer, her ardent gaze easily
distinguished a stalwart figure in plaid and kilt, armed to the teeth with
target and claymore, marching with a stately stride fully ten paces before his
retinue.
"The chief!"
she murmured.
Now indeed she saw
there was no cause to mourn, for any one at all resembling the Baron von
Blitzenberg as he appeared at that moment she had certainly never met before.
Intoxicated with his finery and with the terrific peals of melody behind him,
he pranced rather than walked up to the portals of Lincoln Lodge, and there, to
the amazement and admiration alike of his clansmen and his expectant host, he
burst forth into the following Celtic fragment, translated into English for the
occasion by his assiduous friend from a hitherto undiscovered manuscript of
Ossian:
"I am ze chieftain, Nursed in ze mountains, Behold me, Mac -- ig --
ig -- ig ish! (Yet the Count had
written this word very distinctly.)
"Oich for ze claymore! Hoch for ze philabeg! Sons of ze red deers,
Children of eagles, I will supply you Mit Sassenach carcases!" At this point came a momentary lull,
the chieftain's eyes rolling bloodthirstily, but the rhapsody having apparently
become congested within his fiery heart. His audience, however, were not given
time to recover their senses, before a striking-looking individual, adorned with
tartan trews and a feathered hat, in whom all were pleased to recognize Count
Bunker, whispered briefly in his lordship's ear, and like a river in spate he
foamed on:
"Donald and Ronald Avake from your slumbers! Maiden so lovely,
Smile mit your bright eyes! Ze heather is blooming! Ze vild cat is growling!
Hech Dummeldirroch! Behold Tollyvoddle, Ze Lord of ze Mountains!" Hardly had the reverberations of the
chieftain's voice died away, when the Count, uttering a series of presumably
Gaelic cries, advanced with the most dramatic air, and threw his broad-sword
upon the ground. The Baron laid his across it, the pipes struck up a less
formidable, but if anything more exciting air, and the two noblemen, springing
simultaneously from the ground, began what the Count confidently trusted their
American hosts would accept as the national sword-dance.
This lasted for some
considerable time, and gave the Count an opportunity of testifying his
remarkable agility and the Baron of displaying the greater part of his generously
proportioned limbs, while the lung power of both became from that moment
proverbial in the glen.
At the conclusion of
this ceremony the chieftain, crimson, breathless, and radiant, a sight for gods
and ladies, advanced to greet his host.
"Very happy to see
you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said Mr. Maddison. "Allow me to offer you my
very sincere congratulations on your exceedingly interesting exhibition.
Welcome to Lincoln Lodge, your lordship! My daughter -- my son."
Eleanor, almost as
flushed as the Baron by her headlong rush from the keep at the conclusion of
the sword- dance, threw him such a smile as none of her admirers had ever
enjoyed before; while he, incapable of speech beyond a gasped "Ach!"
bowed so low that the Count had gently to adjust his kilt. Then followed the
approach of the Gallosh family, attired in costumes of Harris tweed and tartan
selected and arranged under the artistic eye of Count Bunker, and escorted, to
their huge delight, by six picked clansmen. Their formal presentation having
been completed by a last skirl on the bagpipes, the whole party moved in
procession to the banqueting-hall.
"A complete
success, I flatter myself," thought Count Bunker, with excusable
complacency.
To the banquet itself
it is scarcely possible for a mere mortal historian to pay a fitting tribute.
Every rarity known to the gourmet that telegraph could summon to the table in
time was served in course upon course. Even the sweetmeats in the little gold
dishes cost on an average a dollar a bon-bon, while the wine was hardly less
valuable than liquid radium. Or at least such was the sworn information
subsequently supplied by Count Bunker to the reporter of "The Torrydhulish
Herald."
Eleanor was in her
highest spirits. She sat between the Baron and Mr. Gallosh, delighted with the
honest pleasure and admiration of the merchant, and all the time becoming more
satisfied with the demeanor and conversation of the chief. In fact, the only
disappointment she felt was connected with the appearance of Miss Gallosh. Much
as she had desired a confidante, she had never demanded one so remarkably
beautiful, and she could not but feel that a very much plainer friend would
have served her purpose quite as well -- and indeed better. Once or twice she
intercepted a glance passing between this superfluously handsome lady and the
principal guest, until at last it occurred to her as a strange and unseemly
thing that Lord Tulliwuddle should be paying so long a visit to his shooting
tenants. Eva, on her part, felt a curiously similar sensation. These American
gentlemen were as pleasant as report had painted them, but she now discovered
an odd antipathy to American women, or at least to their unabashed method of
making themselves agreeable to noblemen. It confirmed, indeed, the worst
reports she had heard concerning the way in which they raided the British
marriage market.
Being placed beside one
of these lovely girls and opposite the other, the Baron, one would think, would
be in the highest state of contentment; but though still flushed with his
triumphant caperings over the broadswords, and exhibiting a graciousness that
charmed his hosts, he struck his observant friend as looking a trifle disturbed
at soul. He would furtively glance across the table and then as furtively throw
a sidelong look at his neighbor, and each time he appeared to grow more
thoughtful. And yet he did not look precisely unhappy either. In fact, there
was a gleam in his eye during each of these glances which suggested that both
fell upon something he approved of.
The after-luncheon
procedure had been carefully arranged between the two adventurers. The Count
was to keep by the Baron's side, and, thus supported, negotiations were to be
delicately opened. Accordingly, when the party rose, the Count whispered a word
in Mr. Maddison's ear. The millionaire answered with a grave, shrewd look, and
his daughter, as if perfectly grasping the situation, led the Galloshes out to
inspect the new fir forest. And then the two noblemen and the two Dariuses
faced one another over their cigars.
WELL, gentlemen,"
said Mr. Maddison, "pleasure is pleasure, and business is business. I
guess we mean to do a little of both to-day, if you are perfectly disposed.
What do you say, Count?"
"I consider that
an occasion selected by you, Mr. Maddison, is not to be neglected."
The millionaire bowed
his acknowledgment of the compliment, and turned to the Baron, who, it may be
remarked, was wearing an expression of thoughtful gravity not frequently to be
noted at Hechnahoul.
"You desire to say
a few words to me, Lord Tulliwuddle, I understand. I shall be pleased to hear
them."
With this both father
and son bent such earnest brows on the Baron and waited for his answer in such
intense silence, that he began to regret the absence of his inspiring pipers.
"I vould like ze
honor to address mine -- mine ---- "
He threw an imploring
glance at his friend, who, without hesitation, threw himself into the breach.
"Lord Tulliwuddle
feels the natural diffidence of a lover in adequately expressing his
sentiments. I understand that he craves your permission to lay a certain case
before a certain lady. I am right, Tulliwuddle?"
"Pairfectly,"
said the Baron, much relieved; "to lay a certain case before a certain
lady. Zat is so, yes, exactly."
Father and son glanced
at one another.
"Your delicacy
does you honor, very great honor," said Mr. Maddison; "but business
is business, Lord Tulliwuddle, and I should like to hear your proposition more
precisely stated. In fact, sir, I like to know just where I am."
"That's just about
right," assented Ri.
"I vould perhaps
vish to marry her."
"Perhaps!"
exclaimed the two together.
Again the Count
adroitly interposed --
"You mean that you
do not intend to thrust your attentions upon an unwilling lady?"
"Yes, yes; zat is
vat I mean."
"I see," said
Mr. Maddison slowly. "H'm, yes."
"Sounds what you
Scotch call `canny,' " commented Ri shrewdly.
"Well,"
resumed the millionaire, "I have nothing to say against that; provided --
provided, I say, that you stipulate to marry the lady so long as she has no
objections to you. No fooling around -- that's all we want to see to. Our time,
sir, is too valuable."
"That is so,"
said Ri.
The Baron's color rose,
and a look of displeasure came into his eyes, but before he had time to make a
retort that might have wrecked his original's hopes, Bunker said quickly --
"Tulliwuddle
places himself in your hands, with the implicit confidence that one gentleman
reposes in another."
Gulping down his
annoyance, the Baron assented --
"Yes, I vill do
zat."
Again father and son
looked at one another, and this time exchanged a nod.
"That, sir, will
satisfy us," said Mr. Maddison. "Ri, you may turn off the
phonograph."
And thereupon the
cessation of a loud buzzing sound, which the visitors had hitherto attributed
to flies, showed that their host now considered he had received a sufficient
guarantee of his lordship's honorable intentions.
"So far, so
good," resumed Mr. Maddison. "I may now inform you, Lord Tulliwuddle,
that the reports about you which I have been able to gather read kind of mixed,
and before consenting to your reception within my daughter's boudoir we should
feel obliged if you would satisfy us that the worst of them are not true -- or,
at least, sir, exaggerated."
This time the Baron
could not restrain an exclamation of displeasure.
"Vat, sir!"
he cried, addressing the millionaire. "Do you examine me on my life!"
"No, sir,"
said Ri, frowning his most determined frown. "It is to me you will be kind
enough to give any explanation you have to offer! Dad may be the spokesman, but
I am the inspirer of these interrogations. My sister, sir, the purest girl in
America, the most beautiful creature beneath the star-spangled banner of
Columbia, is not going to be the companion of dissolute idleness and gilded
dishonor -- not, sir, if I know it."
Too confounded by this
unusual warning to think of any adequate retort, the Baron could only stare his
sensations; while Mr. Maddison, taking up the conversation the instant his son
had ceased, proceeded in a deliberate and impressive voice to say --
"Yes, sir, my son
-- and I associate myself with him -- my son and I, sir, would be happy to
learn that it is not the case as here stated" (he glanced at a paper in
his hand), "namely, Item 1, that you sup rather too frequently with ladies
-- I beg your pardon, Count Bunker, for introducing the theme -- with ladies of
the theatrical profession."
"I!" gasped
the Baron. "I do only vish I sometimes had ze cha ---- "
"Tulliwuddle!"
interrupted the Count. "Don't let your natural indignation carry you away!
Mr. Maddison, that statement is not true. I can vouch for it."
"Ach, of course it
is not true," said the Baron more calmly, as he began to realize that it
was not his own character that was being aspersed.
"I am very glad to
hear it," continued Mr. Maddison, who apparently did not share the full
austerity of his son's views, since without further question he hurried on to
the next point.
"Item 2, sir,
states that at least two West End firms are threatening you with proceedings if
you do not discharge their accounts within a reasonable time."
"A lie!"
declared the Baron emphatically.
"Will you be so
kind as to favor us with the name of the individual who is thus libelling his
lordship?" demanded the Count with a serious air.
Mr. Maddison hastily
put the paper back in his pocket, and with a glance checked his son's gesture
of protest.
"Guess we'd better
pass on to the next thing, Ri. I told you it wasn't any darned use just asking.
But you boys always think you know better than your Poppas," said he; and
then, turning to the Count, "It isn't worth while troubling, Count; I'll
see that these reports get contradicted, if I have to buy up a daily paper and
issue it at a halfpenny. Yes, sir, you can leave it to me."
The Count glanced at
his friend, and they exchanged a grave look.
"Again we place
ourselves in your hands," said Bunker.
Though considerably
impressed with these repeated evidences of confidence on the part of two such
important personages, their host nevertheless maintained something of his
inquisitorial air as he proceeded --
"For my own
satisfaction, Lord Tulliwuddle, and meaning to convey no aspersion whatsoever
upon your character, I would venture to inquire what are your views upon some
of the current topics. Take any one you like, sir, so long as it's good and
solid, and let me hear what you have to say about it. What you favor us with
will not be repeated beyond this room, but merely regarded by my son and myself
as proving that we are getting no dunder-headed dandy for our Eleanor, but an
article of real substantial value -- the kind of thing they might make into a
Lord-lieutenant or a Viceroy in a bad year."
Tempting in every way
as this suggestion sounded, his lordship nevertheless appeared to find a little
initial difficulty in choosing a topic.
"Speak out,
sir," said Mr. Maddison in an encouraging tone. "Our standard for
noblemen isn't anything remarkably high. With a duke I'd be content with just a
few dates and something about model cottages, and, though a baron ought to know
a little more than that, still we'll count these feudal bagpipers and that
ancestral hop-scotch performance as a kind of set- off to your credit. Suppose
you just say a few words on the future of the Anglo-Saxon race. What you've
learned from the papers will do, so long as you seem to understand it."
Perceiving that his
Teutonic friend looked a trifle dismayed at this selection, Count Bunker
suggested the Triple Alliance as an alternative.
"That needs more
facts, I guess," said the millionaire; "but it will be all the more creditable
if you can manage it."
The Baron cleared his
throat to begin, and as he happened (as the Count was well aware) to have the
greatest enthusiasm for this policy, and to have recently read the thirteen
volumes of Professor Bungstrümpher on the subject, he delivered a peroration so
remarkable alike for its fervor, its facts, and its phenomenal length, that
when, upon a gentle hint from the Count, he at last paused, all traces of
objection had vanished from the minds of Darius P. Maddison, senior and junior.
"I need no longer
detain you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said the millionaire respectfully.
"Ri, fetch your sister into her room. Your lordship, I have received an
intellectual treat. I am very deeply gratified, sir. Allow me to conduct you to
my daughter's boudoir."
Flushed with his
exertions and his triumph though the Baron was, he yet remembered so vividly
the ordeal preceding the oration that as they went he whispered in his friend's
ear
"Ah, Bonker, stay
mit me, I pray you! If she should ask more questions!
"Mr. Maddison, ze
Count will stay mit me."
Though a little
surprised at this arrangement, which scarcely accorded with his lordship's
virile appearance and dashing air, Mr. Maddison was by this time too favorably
disposed to question the wisdom of any suggestion he might make, and
accordingly the two friends found themselves closeted together in Miss
Maddison's sanctum awaiting the appearance of the heiress.
"Shall I remain
through the entire interview?" asked the Count.
"Oh yes, mine
Bonker, you most! Or -- vell, soppose it gets unnecessary zen vill I cry `By ze
Gad!' and you vill know to go."
" `By the Gad'? I
see."
"Or -- vell, not
ze first time, but if I say it tree times, zen vill you make an excuse."
"Three times? I
understand, Baron."
IN the eye of the
heiress, as in her father's, might be noted a shade of surprise at finding two
gentlemen instead of one. But though the Count instantly perceived his superfluity,
and though it had been his greatest ambition throughout his life to add no
shade to the dullness with which he frequently complained that life was
overburdened, yet his sense of obligation to his friend was so strong that he
preferred to bore rather than desert. As the only compensation he could offer,
he assumed the most retiring look of which his mobile features were capable,
and pretended to examine one of the tables of curios.
"Lord Tulliwuddle,
I congratulate you on the very happy impression you have made!" began
Eleanor with the most delightful frankness.
But his lordship had
learned to fear the Americans, even bearing compliments.
"So?" he
answered stolidly.
"Indeed you have!
Ri is just wild about your cleverness."
"Zat is kind of
him."
"He declares you
are quite an authority on European politics. Now you will be able to tell me
---- "
"Ach, no! I shall
not to-day, please!" interrupted the Baron hurriedly.
The heiress seemed
disconcerted.
"Oh, not if you'd
rather not, Lord Tulliwuddle."
"Not to-day."
"Well!"
She turned with a shrug
and cast her eyes upon the wall.
"How do you like
this picture? It's my latest toy. I call it just sweet!"
He cautiously examined
the painting.
"It is vary
pretty."
"Do you know Romney's
work?"
The Baron shrank back.
"Not again to-day,
please!"
Miss Maddison opened
her handsome eyes to their widest.
"My word!"
she cried. "If these are Highland manners, Lord Tulliwuddle!"
In extreme confusion
the Baron stammered --
"I beg your
pardon! Forgif me -- but -- ach, not zose questions, please!"
Relenting a little, she
inquired
"What may I ask
you, then? Do tell me! You see I want just to know all about you."
With an affrighted
gesture the Baron turned to his friend.
"Bonker,"
said he, "she does vant to know yet more about me! Vill you please to tell
her."
The Count looked up
from the curios with an expression so bland that the air began to clear even
before he spoke.
"Miss Maddison, I
must explain that my friend's proud Highland spirit has been a little disturbed
by some inquiries, made in all good faith by your father. No offence, I am
certain, was intended; erroneous information -- a little hastiness in jumping
to conclusions -- a sensitive nature wounded by the least insinuation -- such
were the unfortunate causes of Tulliwuddle's excusable reticence. Believe me,
if you knew all, your opinion of him would alter very, very considerably!"
The perfectly accurate
peroration to this statement produced an immediate effect.
"What a
shame!" cried Eleanor, her eyes sparkling brightly. "Lord
Tulliwuddle, I am so sorry!"
The Baron looked into
these eyes, and his own mien altered perceptibly. For an instant he gazed, and
then in a low voice remarked --
"By ze Gad!"
"Once!"
counted the conscientious Bunker.
"Lord
Tulliwuddle," she continued, "I declare I feel so ashamed of those
stupid men, I could just wring their necks! Now, just to make us quits, you ask
me anything in the world you like!"
Over his shoulder the
Baron threw a stealthy glance at his friend, but this time he did not invoke
his assistance. Instead, he again murmured very distinctly --
"By ze Gad!"
"Twice!"
counted Bunker.
"Miss
Maddison," said the Baron to the flushed and eager girl, "am I to
onderstand zat you now are satisfied zat I am not too vicked, too suspeecious,
too unvorthy of your charming society? I do not say I am yet vorthy -- bot jost
not too bad!"
Had the Baroness at
that moment heard merely the intonation of his voice, she would undoubtedly
have preferred a Chinese prison.
"Indeed, Lord
Tulliwuddle, you may."
"By ze Gad!"
announced the Baron, in a voice braced with resolution.
"May I take the
liberty of inspecting the aviary?" said the Count.
"With the very
greatest pleasure," replied the heiress kindly.
His last distinct
impression as he withdrew was of the Baron giving his mustache a more
formidable twirl.
"A very pretty
little scene," he reflected, as he strolled out in search of others.
"Though, hang me, I'm not sure if it ended in the right man leaving the
stage!"
This
"second-fiddle feeling," as he styled it humorously to himself, was
further increased by the demeanor of Miss Gallosh, to whom he now endeavored to
make himself agreeable. Though sharing the universal respect felt for the
character and talents of the Count, she was evidently too perturbed at seeing
him appear alone to appreciate his society as it deserved. Ever since luncheon
poor Eva's heart had been sinking. The beauty, the assurance, the cleverness,
and the charm of the fabulously wealthy American heiress had filled her with
vague misgivings even while the gentlemen were safely absent; but when Miss
Maddison was summoned away, and her father and brother took her place, her
uneasiness vastly increased. Now here was the last buffer removed between the
chieftain and her audacious rival (so she already counted her). What drama
could these mysterious movements have been leading to?
In vain did Count
Bunker exercise his unique powers of conversation. In vain did he discourse on
the beauties of nature as displayed in the wooded valley and the towering
hills, and the beauties of art as exhibited in the aviary and the new fir
forest. Eva's thoughts were too much engrossed with the beauties of woman, and
their dreadful consequences if improperly used.
"Is -- is Miss
Maddison still in the house?" she inquired, with an effort to put the
question carelessly.
"I believe
so," said the Count in his kindest voice.
"And -- and --
that isn't Lord Tulliwuddle with my father, is it?"
"I believe
not," said the Count, still more sympathetically.
She could no longer
withhold a sigh, and the Count tactfully turned the conversation to the
symbolical eagle arrived that morning from Mr. Maddison's native State.
They had passed from
the aviary to the flower garden, when at last they saw the Baron and Eleanor
appear. She joined the rest of the party, while he, walking thoughtfully in
search of his friend, advanced in their direction. He raised his eyes, and
then, to complete Eva's concern, he started in evident embarrassment at
discovering her there also. To do him justice, he quickly recovered his usual
politeness. Yet she noticed that he detained the Count beside him and showed a
curious tendency to discourse solely on the fine quality of the gravel and the
advantages of having a brick facing to a garden wall.
"My lord,"
said Mr. Gallosh, approaching them, "would you be thinking of going soon?
I've noticed Mr. Maddison's been taking out his watch verra frequently."
"Certainly,
certainly!" cried my lord. "Oh, ve have finished all ve have come
for."
Eva started, and even
Mr. Gallosh looked a trifle perturbed.
"Yes," added
the Count quickly, "we have a very good idea of the heating system
employed. I quite agree with you: we can leave the rest to your engineer."
But even his readiness
failed to efface the effects of his friend's unfortunate admission.
Farewells were said,
the procession reformed, the pipers struck up, and amidst the heartiest
expressions of pleasure from all, the chieftain and his friends marched off to
the spot where (out of sight of Lincoln Lodge) the forethought of their manager
had arranged that the carriages should be waiting.
"Well," said
Bunker, when they found themselves in their room again, "what do you think
of Miss Maddison?"
The Baron lit a cigar,
gazed thoughtfully and with evident satisfaction at the daily deepening shade
of tan upon his knees, and then answered slowly --
"Vell, Bonker, she
is not so bad."
"Ah,"
commented Bunker.
"Bot, Bonker, it
is not vat I do think of her. Ach, no! It is not for mein own pleasure. Ach,
nein! How shall I do my duty to Tollyvoddle? Zat is vat I ask myself."
"And what answer
do you generally return?"
"Ze answer I make
is," said the Baron gravely and with the deliberation the point deserved
-- "Ze answer is zat I shall vait and gonsider vich lady is ze best for
him."
"The means you
employ will no doubt include a further short personal interview with each of
them?"
"Vun short! Ach,
Bonker, I most investigate mit carefulness. No, no; I most see zem more zan zat."
"How long do you
expect the process will take you?"
For the first time the
Baron noticed with surprise a shade of impatience in his friend's voice.
"Are you in a
horry, Bonker?"
"My dear Baron, I
grudge no man his sport -- particularly if he is careful to label it his duty.
But, to tell the truth, I have never played gamekeeper for so long before, and
I begin to find that picking up your victims and carrying them after you in a
bag is less exhilarating to-day than it was a week ago. I wouldn't curtail your
pleasure for the world, my dear fellow! But I do ask you to remember the poor
keeper."
"My dear
friend," said the Baron cordially, "I shall remember! It shall take
bot two or tree days to do my duty. I shall not be long."
"A day or two of sober
duty,
Then, Hoch! for London,
home, and beauty!" trolled the Count pleasantly.
The Baron did not echo
the "Hoch"; but after retaining his thoughtful expression for a few
moments, a smile stole over his face, and he remarked in an absent voice --
"Vun does not
alvays need to go home to find beauty."
"Yes," said
the Count, "I have always held it to be one of the advantages of travel
that one learns to tolerate the inhabitants of other lands."
ACH, you are
onfair," exclaimed the Baron. "Really?" said Eva, with a
sarcastic intonation he had not believed possible in so sweet a voice.
It was the day
following the luncheon at Lincoln Lodge, and they were once more seated in the
shady arbor: this time the Count had guaranteed not only to leave them
uninterrupted by his own presence, but to protect the garden from all other
intruders. Everything, in fact, had presaged the pleasantest of tête-à- têtes.
But, alas! the Baron was learning that if Amaryllis pouts, the shadiest corner
may prove too warm. Why, he was asking himself, should she exhibit this
incomprehensible annoyance? What had he done? How to awake her smiles again?
"I do not forget
my old friends so quickly," he protested. "No, I do assure you! I do
not onderstand vy you should say so."
"Oh, we don't
profess to be old friends, Lord Tulliwuddle! After all, there is no reason why
you shouldn't turn your back on us as soon as you see a newer -- and more
amusing -- acquaintance."
"But I have not
turned my back!"
"We saw nothing
else all yesterday."
"Ah, Mees Gallosh,
zat is not true! Often did I look at you!"
"Did you? I had
forgotten. One doesn't treasure every glance, you know."
The Baron tugged at his
mustache and frowned.
"She vill not do
for Tollyvoddle," he said to himself.
But the next instant a
glance from Eva's brilliant eyes -- a glance so reproachful, so appealing, and
so stimulating, that there was no resisting it -- diverted his reflections into
quite another channel.
"Vat can I do to
prove zat I am so friendly as ever?" he exclaimed.
"So
friendly?" she repeated, with an innocently meditative air.
"So vary
parteecularly friendly!"
Her air relented a
little -- just enough, in fact, to make him ardently desire to see it relent
still further.
"You promise
things to me, and then do them for other people's benefit."
The Baron eagerly
demanded a fuller statement of this abominable charge.
"Well," she
said, "you told me twenty times you would show me something really
Highland -- that you'd kill a deer by torchlight, or hold a gathering of the
clans upon the castle lawn. All sorts of things you offered to do for me, and
the only thing you have done has been for the sake of your new friends! You
gave them a procession and a dance."
"But you did see it
too!" he interrupted eagerly.
"As part of your
procession," she retorted scornfully. "We felt much obliged to you --
especially as you were so attentive to us afterwards!"
"I did not mean to
leave you," exclaimed the Baron weakly. "It was jost zat Miss
Maddison ---- "
"I am not
interested in Miss Maddison. No doubt she is very charming; but, really, she
doesn't interest me at all. You were unavoidably prevented from talking to us
-- that is quite sufficient for me. I excuse you, Lord Tulliwuddle. Only,
please, don't make me any more promises."
"Eva! Ach, I most
say `Eva' jost vunce more! I am going to leave my castle, to leave you, and say
good-by."
She started and looked
quickly at him.
"Bot before I go I
shall keep my promise! Ve shall have ze pipers, and ze kilts, and ze dancing,
and toss ze caber, and fling ze hammer, and it shall be on ze castle lawn, and
all for your sake! Vill you not forgive me and be friends?"
"Will it really be
all for my sake?"
She spoke
incredulously, yet looked as if she were willing to be convinced.
"I swear it
vill!"
The latter part of this
interview was so much more agreeable than the beginning that when the distant
rumble of the luncheon gong brought it to an end at last they sighed, and for
fully half a minute lingered still in silence. If one may dare to express in
crude language a maiden's unspoken, formless thought, Eva's might be read --
"There is yet a moment left for him to say the three short words that seem
to hang upon his tongue!" While on his part he was reflecting that he had
another duologue arranged for that very afternoon, and that, for the
simultaneous suitor of two ladies, an open mind was almost indispensable.
"Then you are
going for a drive with the Count Bunker this afternoon?" she asked, as
they strolled slowly towards the house.
"For a leetle tour
in my estate," he answered easily.
"On business, I
suppose?"
"Yes, vorse
luck!"
He knew not whether to
feel more relieved or embarrassed to find that he evidently rose in her
estimation as a conscientious landlord. . . . . . .
"You are having a
capital day's sport, Baron," said the Count gaily, as they drew near
Lincoln Lodge.
During their drive the
Baron had remained unusually silent. He now roused himself and said in a
guarded whisper --
"Bonker, vill you
please to give ze coachman some money not to say jost vere he did drive
us."
"I have done
so," smiled the Count.
His friend gratefully
grasped his hand and curled his mustache with an emboldened air.
A similar display of
address on the part of Count Bunker resulted in the Baron's finding himself
some ten minutes later alone with Miss Maddison in her sanctuary. But, to his
great surprise, he was greeted with none of the encouraging cordiality that had
so charmed him yesterday. The lady was brief in her responses, critical in her
tone, and evidently disposed to quarrel with her admirer on some ground at
present entirely mysterious. Indeed, so discouraging was she that at length he
exclaimed --
"Tell me, Miss
Maddison -- I should not have gom to-day? You did not vish to see me. Eh?"
"I certainly was
perfectly comfortable without you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said the heiress
tartly.
"Shall I go
avay?"
"You have come here
entirely for your own pleasure; and the moment you begin to feel tired there is
nothing to hinder you going home again."
"You vere more
kind to me yesterday," said the Baron sadly.
"I did not learn
till after you had gone how much I was to blame for keeping you so long away
from your friends. Please do not think I shall repeat the offence."
There was an accent on
the word "friends" that enlightened the bewildered nobleman, even
though quickness in taking a hint was not his most conspicuous attribute. That
the voice of gossip had reached the fair American was only too evident; but
though considerably annoyed, he could not help feeling at the same time
flattered to see the concern he was able to inspire.
"My friends!"
said he with amorous artfulness.
"Do you mean Count
Bunker? He is ze only friend I have here mit me."
"The only friend?
Indeed!"
"Zat is since I
see you vill not treat me as soch."
Upon these lines a
pretty little passage-of-arms ensued, the Baron employing with considerable
effect the various blandishments of which he was admitted a past master; the
heiress modifying her resentment by degrees under their insidious influence.
Still she would not entirely quit her troublesome position, till at last a
happy inspiration came to reinforce his assaults. Why, he reflected, should an
entertainment that would require a considerable outlay of money and trouble
serve to win the affections of only one girl? With the same expenditure of
ammunition it might be possible to double the bag.
"Miss
Maddison," he said with a regretful air, "I did come here to-day in
ze hope ---- But ach!"
So happily had he
succeeded in whetting her curiosity that she begged -- nay, insisted -- that he
should finish his sentence.
"If you had been
kind I did hope zat you vould allow me to give in your honor an entertainment
at my castle."
"An
entertainment!" she cried, with a marked increase of interest.
"Jost a leetle
exposition of ze Highland sport, mit bagpipes and caber and so forth; unvorthy
of your notice perhaps, bot ze best I can do."
Eleanor clapped her
hands enthusiastically.
"I should just
love it!"
The triumphant
diplomatist smiled complacently.
"Bonker vill
arrange it all nicely," he said to himself.
And there rose in his
fancy such a pleasing and gorgeous picture of himself in the panoply of the
North, hurling a hammer skywards amidst the plaudits of his clan and the
ravished murmurs of the ladies, that he could not but congratulate himself upon
this last master-stroke of policy. For if instead of ladies there were only one
lady, exactly half the pleasure would be lacking. So generous were this
nobleman's instincts!
During their drive to
Lincoln Lodge the Baron had hesitated to broach his new project to his friend
for the very reason that, after the glow of his first enthusiastic proposal to
Eva was over, it seemed to him a vast undertaking for a limited object; but
driving home he lost no time in confiding his scheme to the Count.
"The deuce!"
cried Bunker. "That will mean three more days here at least!"
"Vat is tree days,
mine Bonker?"
"My dear Baron, I
am the last man in the world to drop an unpleasant hint; yet I can't help
thinking we have been so unconscionably lucky up till now that it would be wise
to retire before an accident befalls us."
"Vat kind of
accident?"
"The kind that may
happen to the best regulated adventurer."
The Baron pondered.
When Bunker suggested caution it indeed seemed time to beat a retreat; yet --
those two charming ladies, and that alluring tartan tableau!
"Ach, let ze devil
take ze man zat is afraid!" he exclaimed at last. "Bonker, it vill be
soch fun!"
"Watching you
complete two conquests?"
"Be not impatient,
good Bonker!"
"My dear fellow,
if you could find me one girl -- even one would content me -- who would
condescend to turn her eyes from the dazzling spectacle of Baron Tulliwuddle,
and cast them for so much as half an hour a day upon his obscure companion, I
might see some fun in it too."
The Baron, with an air
of patronizing kindness that made his fellow-adventurer's lot none the easier
to bear, answered reassuringly --
"Bot I shall leave
all ze preparations to be made by you; you vill not have time zen to feel
lonely."
"Thank you, Baron;
you have the knack of conferring the most princely favors."
"Ach, I am used to
do so," said the Baron simply, and then burst out eagerly, "Some feat
you must design for me at ze sports so zat I can show zem my strength,
eh?"
"With the caber,
for instance?"
The Baron had seen the
caber tossed, and he shook his head.
"He is too
big."
"I might fit a
strong spring in one end."
But the Baron still
seemed disinclined. His friend reflected, and then suddenly exclaimed --
"The village
doctor keeps some chemical apparatus, I believe! You'll throw the hammer,
Baron. I can manage it."
The Baron appeared
mystified by the juxtaposition of ideas, but serenely expressed himself as
ready to entrust this and all other arrangements for the Hechnahoul Gathering
to the ingenious Count, as some small compensation for so conspicuously
outshining him.
THE day of the
Gathering broke gray and still, and the Baron, who was no weather prophet,
declared gloomily --
"It vill rain.
Donnerwetter!"
A couple of hours later
the sun was out, and the distant hills shimmering in the heat haze.
"Himmel! Ve are
alvays lucky, Bonker!" he cried, and with gleeful energy brandished his
dumb-bells in final preparation for his muscular exploits.
"We certainly have
escaped hanging so far," said the Count, as he drew on the trews which
became his well-turned leg so happily.
His arrangements were
admirable and complete, and by twelve o'clock the castle lawn looked as
barbarically gay as the colored supplement to an illustrated paper. Pipes were
skirling, skirts fluttering, flags flapping; and as invitations had been issued
to various magnates in the district, whether acquainted with the present peer
or not, there were to be seen quite a number of dignified personages in divers
shades of tartan, and parasols of all the hues in the rainbow. The Baron was in
his element. He judged the bagpipe competition himself, and held one end of the
tape that measured the jumps, besides delighting the whole assembled company by
his affability and good spirits.
"Your performance
comes next, I see," said Eleanor Maddison, throwing him her brightest
smile. "I can't tell you how I am looking forward to seeing you do
it!"
The Baron started and
looked at the programme in her hand. He had been too excited to study it
carefully before, and now for the first time he saw the announcement (in large
type) --
"7. Lord Tulliwuddle
throws the 85-lb. hammer."
The sixth event was
nearly through, and there -- there evidently was the hammer in question being
carried into the ring by no fewer than three stalwart Highlanders! The Baron
had learned enough of the pastimes of his adopted country to be aware that this
gigantic weapon was something like four times as heavy as any hammer hitherto
thrown by the hardiest Caledonian.
"Teufel! Bonker
vill make a fool of me," he muttered, and hastily bursting from the circle
of spectators, hurried towards the Count, who appeared to be busied in keeping
the curious away from the Chieftain's hammer.
"Bonker, vat means
zis?" he demanded.
"Your
hammer," smiled the Count.
"A hammer zat
takes tree men ---- "
"Hush!"
whispered the Count. "They are only holding it down!"
The Baron laid his hand
upon the round enormous head, and started.
"It is not
iron!" he gasped. "It is of rubber."
"Filled with
hydrogen," breathed the Count in his ear. "Just swing it once and let
go -- and, I say, mind it doesn't carry you away with it."
The chief bared his
arms and seized the handle; his three clansmen let go; and then, with what
seemed to the breathless spectators to be a merely trifling effort of strength,
he dismissed the projectile upon the most astounding journey ever seen even in
that land of brawny hammer-hurlers. Up, up, up it soared, over the trees; high
above the topmost turret of the castle, and still on and on and ever upwards
till it became a mere speck in the zenith, and at last faded utterly from
sight.
Then, and not till
then, did the pent-up applause break out into such a roar of cheering as
Hechnahoul had never heard before in all its long history.
"Eighty-five
pounds of pig-iron gone straight to heaven!" gasped the Silver King.
"Guess that beats all records!"
"America must wake
up!" frowned Ri.
Meanwhile the Baron,
after bowing in turn towards all points of the compass, turned confidentially
to his friend.
"Vill not ze men
that carried it ---- ?"
"I've told 'em
you'd give 'em a couple of sovereigns apiece."
The Baron came from an
economical nation.
"Two to
each!"
"My dear fellow,
wasn't it worth it?"
The Baron grasped his
hand.
"Ja, mine Bonker,
it vas! I vill pay zem."
Radiant and smiling, he
returned to receive the congratulations of his guests, dreaming that his
triumph was complete, and that nothing more arduous remained than pleasant
dalliance alternately with his Eleanor and his Eva. But he speedily discovered
that hurling an inflated hammer heavenwards was child's play as compared with
the simultaneous negotiation of a double wooing. The first person to address
him was the millionaire, and he could not but feel a shiver of apprehension to
note that he was evidently in the midst of a conversation with Mr. Gallosh.
"I must
congratulate you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said Mr. Maddison, "and I must
further congratulate my daughter upon the almost miraculous feat you have
performed for her benefit. You know, I dare say" -- here he turned to Mr.
Gallosh -- "that this very delightful entertainment was given primarily in
my Eleanor's honor?"
"Whut!"
exclaimed the merchant. "That's -- eh -- that's scarcely the fac's as
we've learned them. But his lordship will be able to tell you best
himself."
His lordship smiled
affably upon both, murmured something incoherent, and passed on hastily towards
the scarlet parasol of Eleanor. But he had no sooner reached it than he paused
and would have turned had she not seen him, for under a blue parasol beside her
he espied, too late, the fair face of Eva, and too clearly perceived that the
happy maidens had been comparing notes, with the result that neither looked
very happy now.
"I hope you do
enjoy ze sports," he began, endeavoring to distribute this wish as equally
as possible.
"Miss Gallosh has
been remarkably fortunate in her weather," said Eleanor, and therewith
gave him an uninterrupted view of her sunshade.
"Miss Maddison has
seen you to great advantage, Lord Tulliwuddle," said Eva, affording him the
next instant a similar prospect of silk.
The unfortunate chief
recoiled from this ungrateful reception of his kindness. Only one refuge, one
mediator, he instinctively looked for; but where could the Count have gone?
"Himmel! Has he
deserted me?" he muttered, frantically elbowing his way in search of him.
But this once it
happened that the Count was engaged upon business of his own. Strolling outside
the ring of spectators, with a view to enjoying a cigar and a little relaxation
from the anxieties of stage-management, his attention had been arrested in a
singular and flattering way. At that place where he happened to be passing
stood an open carriage containing a girl and an older lady, evidently guests
from the neighborhood personally unknown to his lordship, and just as he went
by he heard pronounced in a thrilling whisper -- "That must be Count
Bunker!"
The Count was too
well-bred to turn at once, but it is hardly necessary to say that a few moments
later he casually repassed the carriage; nor will it astonish any who have been
kind enough to follow his previous career with some degree of attention to
learn that when opposite the ladies he paused, looked from them to the
enclosure and back again, and presently raising his feathered bonnet, said in
the most ingratiating tones --
"Pardon me, but I
am requested by Lord Tulliwuddle to show any attention I can to the comfort of
his guests. Can you see well from where you are?"
The younger lady with
an eager air assured him that they saw perfectly, and even in the course of the
three or four sentences she spoke he was able to come to several conclusions
regarding her: that her companion was in a subsidiary and doubtless salaried
position; that she herself was decidedly attractive to look upon; that her
voice had spoken the whispered words; and that her present animated air might
safely be attributed rather to the fact that she addressed Count Bunker than to
the subject-matter of her reply.
No one possessed in a
higher degree than the Count the nice art of erecting a whole conversation upon
the foundation of the lightest phrase. He contrived a reply to the lady's
answer, was able to put the most natural question next, to follow that with a
happy stroke of wit, and within three minutes to make it seem the most obvious
thing in the world that he should be saying
"I am sure that
Lord Tulliwuddle will never forgive me if I fail to learn the names of any
visitors who have honored him to-day."
"Mine," said
the girl, her color rising slightly, but her glance as kind as ever, "is
Julia Wallingford. This is my friend Miss Minchell."
The Count bowed.
"And may I
introduce myself as a friend of Tulliwuddle's, answering to the name of Count
Bunker."
Again Miss
Wallingford's color rose. In a low and ardent voice she began
"I am so glad to
meet you! Your name is already ---- "
But at that instant,
when the Count was bending forward to catch the words and the lady bending down
to utter them, a hand grasped him by the sleeve, and the Baron's voice exclaimed
"Come, Bonker,
quickly here to help me!"
He would fain have
presented his lordship to the ladies, but the Baron was too hurried to pause,
and with a parting bow he was reluctantly borne off to assist his friend out of
his latest dilemma.
"Pooh, my dear
Baron!" he cried, when the situation was explained to him; "you
couldn't have done more damage to their hearts if you had hurled your hammer at
them! A touch of jealousy was all that was needed to complete your conquests.
But for me you have spoiled the most promising affair imaginable. There goes
their carriage trotting down the drive! And I shall probably never know whether
my name was already in her heart or in her prayers. Those are the two chief
receptacles for gentlemen's names, I believe -- aren't they, Baron?"
On his advice the rival
families were left to the soothing influences of a good dinner and a night's
sleep, and he found himself free to ponder over his interrupted adventure.
"Undoubtedly one
feels all the better for a little appreciation," he reflected
complacently. "I wonder if it was my trews that bowled her over?"
THE Count next morning
consumed a solitary breakfast, his noble friend having risen some hours
previously and gone for an early walk upon the hill. But he was far from
feeling any trace of boredom, since an open letter beside his plate appeared to
provide him with an ample fund of pleasant and entertaining reflections.
"I have not
withered yet," he said to himself. "Here is proof positive that some
blossom, some aroma remains!"
The precise terms of
this encouraging epistle were these: "THE LASH, near NETHERBRIG.
"Tuesday night.
"DEAR COUNT
BUNKER, -- Forgive what must seem to you incredible boldness (!), and do not
think worse of me than I deserve. It seems such a pity that you should be so
near and yet that I should lose this chance of gratifying my great desire. If
you knew how I prized the name of Bunker you would understand; but no doubt I
am only one among many, and you do understand better than I can explain.
"My father is away
from home, and the world dictates prudence; but I know your views on
conventionality are those I too have learned to share, so will you come and see
me before you leave Scotland?
"With kindest
regards and in great haste because I want you to get this to-morrow morning.
Believe me, yours very sincerely, "JULIA WALLINGFORD."
"P.S. -- If it
would upset your arrangements to come only for the day, Miss Minchell agrees
with me that we could easily put you up. -- J. W."
"By Jingo!"
mused the Count, "that's what I call a sporting offer. Her father away
from home, and Count Bunker understanding better than she can explain! Gad,
it's my duty to go!"
But besides the
engaging cordiality of Miss Wallingford's invitation, there was something about
the letter that puzzled almost as much as it cheered him.
"She prizes the
name of Bunker, does she? Never struck me it was very ornamental; and in any
case the compliment seems a trifle stretched. But, hang it! this is looking a
gift-horse in the mouth. Such ardor deserves to be embraced, not
dissected."
He swiftly debated how
best to gratify the lady. Last night it had been his own counsel, and likewise
the Baron's desire, to leave by the night mail that very evening, with their
laurels still unfaded and blessings heaped upon their heads. Why not make his
next stage The Lash?
"Hang it, the
Baron has had such a good innings that he can scarcely grudge me a short
knock," he said to himself. "He can wait for me at Perth or somewhere."
And, ringing the bell,
he wrote and promptly despatched this brief telegram:
"Delighted. Shall
spend to-night in passing. Bunker."
Hardly was this point
settled when the footman re- entered to inform him that Mr. Maddison's motor
car was at the door waiting to convey him without delay to Lincoln Lodge.
Accompanying this announcement came the Silver King's card bearing the words,
"Please come and see me at once."
The Count stroked his
chin, and lit a cigarette.
"There is
something fresh in the wind," thought he.
In the course of his
forty-miles-an-hour rush through the odors of pine woods, he had time to come
to a pretty correct conclusion regarding the business before him, and was thus
enabled to adopt the mien most suitable to the contingency when he found
himself ushered into the presence of the millionaire and his son. The set look
upon their faces, the ceremonious manner of their greeting, and the low buzzing
of the phonograph, audible above the tinkle of a musical box ingeniously intended
to drown it, confirmed his guess even before a word had passed.
"Be seated,
Count," said the Silver King; and the Count sat.
"Now, sir,"
he continued, "I have sent for you, owing, sir, to the high opinion I have
formed of your intelligence and business capabilities."
The Count bowed
profoundly.
"Yes, sir, I
believe, and my son believes, you to be a white man, even though you are a
Count."
"That is so,"
said Ri.
"Now, sir, you
must be aware -- in fact, you are aware -- of the matrimonial project once
entertained between my daughter and Lord Tulliwuddle."
"Once!"
exclaimed the Count in protest.
"Once!"
echoed Ri in his deepest voice.
"Hish, Ri! Let
your poppa do the talking this time," said the millionaire sternly, though
with an indulgent eye.
"But -- er --
once?" repeated the Count, as if bewildered by the past tense implied;
though to himself he murmured -- "I knew it!"
"When I gave my
sanction to Lord Tulliwuddle's proposition, I did so under the impression that
I was doing a deal with a man, sir, of integrity and honor. But what do I
find?"
"Yes, what?"
thundered Ri.
"I find, sir, that
his darned my-lordship -- and be damned to his titles ---- "
"Mr.
Maddison!" expostulated the Count gently.
"I find, Count, I
find that Lord Tulliwuddle, under pretext of paying my Eleanor a compliment,
has provided an entertainment -- a musical and athletic entertainment -- for
another woman!"
The Count sprang to his
feet.
"Impossible!"
he cried.
"It is true!"
"Name her!"
"She answers, sir,
to the plebeian cognomen of Gallosh."
"A nobody!"
sneered Ri.
"In trade!"
added his father scornfully.
Had the occasion been
more propitious, the Count could scarcely have refrained from commenting upon
this remarkably republican criticism; but, as it was, he deemed it more
advisable to hunt with the hounds.
"That
canaille!" he shouted. "Ha, ha! Lord Tulliwuddle would never so far
demean himself!"
"I have it from
old Gallosh himself," declared Mr. Maddison.
"And that girl
Gallosh told Eleanor the same," added Ri.
"Pooh!" cried
the Count. "A mere invention."
"You are certain,
sir, that Lord Tulliwuddle gave them no grounds whatever for supposing such a
thing?"
"I pledge my
reputation as Count of the Austrian Empire, that if my friend be indeed a
Tulliwuddle he is faithful to your charming daughter!"
Father and son looked
at him shrewdly.
"Being a
Tulliwuddle, or any other sort of pampered aristocrat, doesn't altogether
guarantee faithfulness," observed the Silver King.
"If he has
deceived you, he shall answer to me!" declared the Count. "And
between ourselves, as nature's gentleman to nature's gentleman, you may assure
Miss Maddison that there is not the remotest likelihood of this scheming Miss
Gallosh ever becoming my friend's bride!"
The two Dariuses were
sensibly affected by this assurance.
"As nature's
gentleman to nature's gentleman!" repeated the elder with unction,
wringing his hand.
His son displayed an
equal enthusiasm, and the Count departed with an enhanced reputation and the
lingering fragrance of a cocktail upon his tongue.
"Now I think we
are in comparatively smooth water," he said to himself as he whizzed back
to the castle.
At the door he was
received by the butler.
"Mr. Gallosh is
waiting for you in the library, my lord," said he, adding confidentially
(since the Count had endeared himself to all), "He's terrible impatient
for to see your lordship."
EVIDENTLY Mr. Gallosh,
while waiting for the Count's return, had so worked up his wrath that it was
ready to explode on a hair-trigger touch; and, as evidently, his guest's
extreme urbanity made it exceedingly difficult to carry out his threatening
intentions.
"I want a word
with you, Count. I've been wanting a word with you all morning," he began.
"Believe me, Mr.
Gallosh, I appreciate the compliment."
"Where were you? I
mean it was verra annoying not to find you when I wanted you."
The merchant was so evidently
divided between anxiety to blurt out his mind while it was yet hot from the
making up, and desire not to affront a guest and a man of rank, that the Count
could scarcely restrain a smile.
"It is equally
annoying to myself. I should have enjoyed a conversation with you at any hour
since breakfast."
"Umph,"
replied his host.
"What can I do for
you now?"
Mr. Gallosh looked at
him steadfastly.
"Count
Bunker," said he, "I am only a plain man ---- "
"The ladies, I
assure you, are not of that opinion," interposed the Count politely.
Mr. Gallosh seemed to
him to receive this compliment with more suspicion than pleasure.
"I'm saying,"
he repeated, "that I'm only a plain man of business, and you and your
friend are what you'd call swells."
"God forbid that I
should!" the Count interjected fervently. " `Toffs,' possibly -- but
no matter, please continue."
"Well, now, so
long as his lordship likes to treat me and my family as kind of belonging to a
different sphere, I'm well enough content. I make no pretensions, Count, to be
better than what I am."
"I also, Mr.
Gallosh, endeavor to affect a similar modesty. It's rather becoming, I think,
to a fine-looking man."
"It's becoming to
any kind of man that he should know his place. But I was saying, I'd have been
content if his lordship had been distant and polite and that kind of thing. But
was he? You know yourself, Count, how he's behaved!"
"Perfectly
politely, I trust."
"But he's not been
what you'd call distant, Count Bunker. In fac', the long and the short of it is
just this -- what's his intentions towards my Eva?"
"Is it Mrs.
Gallosh who desires this information?"
"It is. And myself
too; oh, I'm not behindhand where the reputation of my daughters is
concerned!"
"Mrs. G. has
screwed him up to this," said the Count to himself. Aloud, he asked with
his blandest air --
"Was not Lord
Tulliwuddle available himself?"
"No; he's gone
out."
"Alone?"
"No, not
alone."
"In brief, with
Miss Gallosh?"
"Quite so; and
what'll he be saying to her?"
"He is a man of
such varied information that it's hard to guess."
"From all I hear,
there's not been much variety so far," said Mr. Gallosh drily.
"Dear me!"
observed the Count.
His host looked at him
for a few moments.
"Well?" he
demanded at length.
"Pardon me if I am
stupid, but what comment do you expect me to make?"
"Well, you see, we
all know quite well you're more in his lordship's confidence than any one else
in the house, and I'd take it as a favor if you'd just give me your honest
opinion. Is he just playing himself -- or what?"
The worthy Mr. Gallosh
was so evidently sincere, and looked at him with such an appealing eye, that
the Count found the framing of a suitable reply the hardest task that had yet
been set him.
"Mr. Gallosh, if I
were in Tulliwuddle's shoes I can only say that I should consider myself a
highly fortunate individual; and I do sincerely believe that that is his own
conviction also."
"You think
so?"
"I do
indeed."
Though sensibly
relieved, Mr. Gallosh still felt vaguely conscious that if he attempted to
repeat this statement for the satisfaction of his wife, he would find it hard
to make it sound altogether as reassuring as when accompanied by the Count's
sympathetic voice. He ruminated for a minute, and then suddenly recalled what
the Count's evasive answers and sympathetic assurances had driven from his
mind. Yet it was, in fact, the chief occasion of concern.
"Do you know,
Count Bunker, what his lordship has gone and done?"
"Should one
inquire too specifically?" smiled the Count; but Mr. Gallosh remained
unmoved.
"You can bear me
witness that he told us he was giving this gathering in my Eva's honor?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Well, he went and
told Miss Maddison it was for her sake?"
"Incredible!"
"It's a
fact!"
"I refuse to
believe my friend guilty of such perfidy! Who told you this?"
"The Maddisons
themselves."
"Ha, ha!"
laughed the Count, as heartily as he had laughed at Lincoln Lodge; "don't
you know these Americans sometimes draw the long bow?"
"You mean to say
you don't believe they told the truth?"
"My dear Mr.
Gallosh, I would answer you in the oft-quoted words of Horace -- `Arma virumque
cano.' The philosophy of a solar system is some times compressed within an
eggshell. Say nothing and see!"
He shook his host
heartily by the hand as he spoke, and Mr. Gallosh, to his subsequent
perplexity, found the interview apparently at a satisfactory conclusion.
"And now,"
said the Count to himself, " `Bolt!' is the word."
As he set about his
packing in the half-hour that yet remained before luncheon, he was surprised to
note that his friend had evidently left no orders yet concerning any
preparations for his departure.
"Confound him! I
thought he had made up his mind last night! Ah, there he comes -- and singing,
too, by Jingo! If he wants another day's dalliance ---- "
At this point his
reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the jovial Baron himself. He
stopped and stared at his friend.
"Vat for do you
pack up?"
"Because we leave
this afternoon."
"Ach, Bonker,
absurd! To-morrow -- yes, to-morrow ve vill leave."
Bunker folded his arms
and looked at him seriously.
"I have had two
interviews this morning -- one with Mr. Maddison, the other with Mr. Gallosh.
They were neither of them pleased with you, Baron."
"Not pleased? Vat
did zey say?"
Depicting the ire of
these gentlemen in the most vivid terms, the Count gave him a summary of his
morning's labors.
"Pooh, pooh! Tuts,
tuts!" exclaimed the Baron. "I vill make zat all right; never do you
fear. Eva, she does smile on me already. Eleanor, she vill also ven I see her.
Leave it to me."
"You won't go
to-day?"
"To-morrow,
Bonker, I swear I vill for certain!"
Bonker pondered.
"Hang it!" he
exclaimed. "The worst of it is, I've pledged myself to go upon a
visit."
The Baron listened to
the tale of his incipient romance with the greatest relish.
"Bot go, my
friend! Bot go!" he cried, "and zen come back here to-morrow and ve
vill leave togezzer."
"Leave you alone,
with the barometer falling and the storm-cone hoisted? I don't like to,
Baron."
"Bot to leave zat
leetle girl -- eh, Bonker? How is zat?"
"Was ever a man so
torn between two duties!" exclaimed the conscientious Count.
"Ladies come
first!" quoth the Baron.
Bunker was obviously
strongly tending to this opinion also.
"Can I trust you
to guide your own destinies without me?"
The Baron drew himself
up with a touch of indignation.
"Am I a child or a
fool? I have guided mine destiny vary vell so far, and I zink I can still so
do. Ven vill you go to see Miss Wallingford?"
"I'll hire a trap
from the village after lunch and be off about four," said the Count.
"Long live the ladies! Learn wisdom by my example! Will this tie conquer
her, do you think?"
In this befitting
spirit he drove off that afternoon, and the Baron, after waving his adieus from
the door, strode brimful of confidence towards the drawing-room. His thoughts
must have gone astray, for he turned by accident into the wrong room -- a small
apartment hardly used at all; and before he had time to turn back he stopped
petrified at the sight of a picture on the wall. There could be no mistake --
it was the original of that ill-omened print he had seen in the Edinburgh
hotel, "The Execution of Lord Tulliwuddle." The actual title was
there plain to see.
"Zen it vas not a
hoax!" he gasped.
His first impulse was
to look for a bicycle and tear after the dog-cart.
"But can I ride
him in a kilt?" he reflected.
By the time he had
fully debated this knotty point his friend was miles upon his way, and the
Baron was left ruefully to lament his rashness in parting with such an ally.
DURING the horrid
period of suspense that followed her visit to Sir Justin, the Baroness von
Blitzenberg naturally enough felt disinclined to go much into society, and in
fact rarely went out at all during the Baron's absence, except to the houses of
one or two of her mother's particular friends. Even then she felt much more
inclined to stay at home.
"Need we go to
Mrs. Jerwin-Speedy's to-night?" she said one afternoon.
"Certainly,"
replied the Countess decisively.
Alicia sighed
submissively; but this attitude was abruptly changed into one of readiness,
nay, even of alacrity, when her mother remarked --
"By the way, she
is an aunt of the present Tulliwuddle. I believe it was you who were asking
about him the other day."
"Was I?" said
the Baroness carelessly; but she offered no further objections to attending
Mrs. Jerwin- Speedy's reception.
She found there a large
number of people compressed into a couple of small rooms, and she soon felt so
lost in the crush of strangers, and the chances of obtaining any information
about Lord Tulliwuddle or his Eva seemed so remote, that she soon began to wish
herself comfortably at home again, even though it were only to fret. But fortune,
which had so long been unkind to her and indulgent to her erring spouse, chose
that night as the turning-point in her tide of favors. Little dreaming how much
hung on a mere introduction, Mrs. Jerwin-Speedy led up to the Baroness an
apparently nervous and diffident young man.
"Let me introduce
my nephew, Lord Tulliwuddle -- the Baroness von Blitzenberg," said she;
and having innocently hurled this bomb, retired from further participation in
the drama.
With young and
diffident men Alicia had a pleasant instinct for conducting herself as
smilingly as though they were the greatest wits about the town. The envious of
her sex declared that it was because she scarcely recognized the difference;
but be that as it may, it served her on this occasion in the most admirable
stead. She detached the agitated peer from the thickest of the throng, propped
him beside her against the wall, and by her kindness at length unloosed his
tongue. Then it was she began to suspect that his nervous manner must surely be
due to some peculiar circumstance rather than mere constitutional shyness. Made
observant by her keen curiosity, she noticed at first a worried, almost hunted,
look in his eyes and an extreme impatience of scrutiny by his fellow-guests;
but as he gained confidence in her kindness and discretion these passed away,
and he appeared simply a garrulous young man, with a tolerably good opinion of
himself.
"Poor fellow! He
is in trouble of some kind. Something to do with Eva, of course!" she said
to her sympathetically.
The genuine Tulliwuddle
had indeed some cause for perturbation. After keeping himself out of the way of
all his friends and most of his acquaintances ever since the departure of his
substitute, hearing nothing of what was happening at Hechnahoul, and living in
daily dread of the ignominious exposure of their plot, he had stumbled by
accident against his aunt, explained his prolonged absence from her house with
the utmost difficulty, and found himself forced to appease her wounded feelings
by appearing where he least wished to be seen -- in a crowded London
reception-room. No wonder the unfortunate young man seemed nervous and ill at
ease.
As for Alicia, she was
consumed with anxiety to know why he was here and not in Scotland, as Sir
Justin had supposed; and, indeed, to learn a number of things. And now they
were rapidly getting on sufficiently familiar terms for her to put a tactful
question or two. Encouraged by her sympathy, he began to touch upon his own
anxieties.
"A young man ought
to get married, I suppose," he remarked confidentially.
The Baroness smiled.
"That depends on
whether he likes any one well enough to marry her, doesn't it?"
He sighed.
"Do you think --
honestly now," he said solemnly, "that one should marry for love or
marry for money?"
"For love,
certainly!"
"You really think
so? You'd advise -- er -- advise a fellow to blow the prejudices of his
friends, and that sort of thing?"
"I should have to
know a little more about the case."
He was evidently longing
for a confidant.
"Suppose er -- one
girl was ripping, but -- well -- on the stage, for instance."
"On the
stage!" exclaimed the Baroness. "Yes, please go on. What about the
other girl?"
"Suppose she had
simply pots of money, but the fellow didn't know much more about her?"
"I certainly
shouldn't marry a girl I didn't know a good deal about," said the Baroness
with conviction.
Lord Tulliwuddle seemed
impressed with this opinion.
"That's just what
I have begun to think," said he, and gazed down at his pumps with a
meditative air.
The Baroness thought
the moment had come when she could effect a pretty little surprise.
"Which of them is
called Eva?" she asked archly.
To her intense
disappointment he merely stared.
"Don't you really
know any girl called Eva?"
He shook his head.
"Can't think of
any one."
Suspicion, fear,
bewilderment, made her reckless.
"Have you been in
Scotland -- at your castle, as I heard you were going?"
A mighty change came
over the young man. He backed away from her, stammering hurriedly
"No -- yes -- I --
er -- why do you ask me that?"
"Is there any
other Lord Tulliwuddle?" she demanded breathlessly.
He gave her one wild
look, and then without so much as a farewell had turned and elbowed his way out
of the room.
"It's all
up!" he said to himself. "There's no use trying to play that game any
longer -- Essington has muddled it somehow. Well, I'm free to do what I like
now!"
In this state of mind
he found himself in the street, hailed the first hansom, and drove headlong
from the dangerous regions of Belgravia. . . . . . .
Till the middle of the
next day the Baroness still managed to keep her own counsel, though she was now
so alarmed that she was twenty times on the point of telling everything to her
mother. But the arrival of a note from Sir Justin ended her irresolution. It
ran thus:
"MY DEAR ALICIA,
-- I have just learned for certain that Lord T. is at his place in Scotland.
Singularly enough, he is described as apparently of foreign extraction, and I
hear that he is accompanied by a friend of the name of Count Bunker. I am just
setting out for the North myself, and trust that I may be able to elucidate the
mystery. Yours very truly, "JUSTIN WALLINGFORD."
"Foreign
extraction! Count Bunker!" gasped the Baroness; and without stopping to
debate the matter again, she rushed into her mother's arms, and there sobbed
out the strange story of her second letter and the two Lord Tulliwuddles.
It were difficult to
say whether anger at her daughter's deceit, indignation with the treacherous
Baron, or a stern pleasure in finding her worst prognostications in a fair way
to being proved, was the uppermost emotion in Lady Grillyer's mind when she had
listened to this relation. Certainly poor Alicia could not but think that
sympathy for her troubles formed no ingredient in the mixture.
"To think of your
concealing this from me for so long!" she cried: "and Sir Justin
abetting you! I shall tell him very plainly what I think of him! But if my
daughter sets an example in treachery, what can one expect of one's
friends?"
"After all, mamma,
it was my own and Rudolph's concern more than your's!" exclaimed Alicia,
flaring up for an instant.
"Don't answer me,
child!" thundered the Countess. "Fetch me a railway time-table, and
say nothing that may add to your sin!"
"A time-table.
mamma? What for?"
"I am going to
Scotland," pronounced the Countess.
"Then I shall go
too!"
"Indeed you shall
not. You will wait here till I have brought Rudolph back to you."
The Baroness said
nothing aloud, but within her wounded heart she thought bitterly
"Mamma seems to
forget that even worms will turn sometimes!"
A DECIDEDLY delectable
residence," said Count Bunker to himself as his dog-cart approached the
lodge gates of The Lash. "And a very proper setting for the pleasant
scenes so shortly to be enacted. Lodge, avenue, a bogus turret or two, and a
flagstaff on top of 'em -- by Gad, I think one may safely assume a tolerable
cellar in such a mansion."
As he drove up the
avenue between a double line of ancient elms and sycamores, his satisfaction
increased and his spirits rose ever higher.
"I wonder if I can
forecast the evening: a game of three-handed bridge, in which I trust I'll be
lucky enough to lose a little silver, that'll put 'em in good- humor and make
old Miss What-d'ye-may-call-her the more willing to go to bed early; then the
departure of the chaperon; and then the tête-à-tête! I hope to Heaven I haven't
got rusty!"
With considerable
satisfaction he ran over the outfit he had brought, deeming it even on second
thoughts a singularly happy selection: the dining coat with pale- blue lapels,
the white tie of a new material and cut borrowed from the Baron's finery, the
socks so ravishingly embroidered that he had more than once caught the ladies
at Hechnahoul casting affectionate glances upon them.
"A first-class
turn-out," he thought. "And what a lucky thing I thought of borrowing
a banjo from young Gallosh! A coon song in the twilight will break the ground
prettily."
By this time they had
stopped before the door, and an elderly man-servant, instead of waiting for the
Count, came down the steps to meet him. In his manner there was something
remarkably sheepish and constrained, and, to the Count's surprise, he thrust
forth his hand almost as if he expected it to be shaken. Bunker, though a
trifle puzzled, promptly handed him the banjo case, remarking pleasantly --
"My banjo; take
care of it, please."
The man started so
violently that he all but dropped it upon the steps.
"What the deuce
did he think I said?" wondered the Count. " `Banjo' can't have
sounded `dynamite.' "
He entered the house,
and found himself in a pleasant hall, where his momentary uneasiness was at
once forgotten in the charming welcome of his hostess. Not only she, but her
chaperon, received him with a flattering warmth that realized his utmost
expectations.
"It was so good of
you to come!" cried Miss Wallingford.
"So very
kind," murmured Miss Minchell.
"I knew you
wouldn't think it too unorthodox!" added Julia.
"I'm afraid
orthodoxy is a crime I shall never swing for," said the Count, with his
most charming smile.
"I am sure my
father wouldn't really mind," said Julia.
"Not if Sir Justin
shared your enthusiasm, dear," added Miss Minchell.
"I must teach him
to!"
"Good Lord!"
thought the Count. "This is friendly indeed."
A few minutes passed in
the exchange of these preliminaries, and then his hostess said, with a pretty
little air of discipleship that both charmed and slightly puzzled him
"You do still
think that nobody should dine later than six, don't you? I have ordered dinner
for six to-night."
"Six!"
exclaimed the Count, but recovering himself, added, "An ideal hour -- and
it is half-past five now. Perhaps I had better think of dressing."
"What you call
dressing!" smiled Julia, to his justifiable amazement. "Let me show
you to your room."
She led him upstairs,
and finally stopped before an open door.
"There!" she
said, with an air of pride. "It is really my father's bedroom when he is
at home, but I've had it specially prepared for you! Is it just as you would
like?"
Bunker was incapable of
observing anything very particularly beyond the fact that the floor was
uncarpeted, and as nearly free from furniture as a bedroom floor could well be.
"It is
ravishing!" he murmured, and dismissed her with a well-feigned smile.
Bereft even of expletives,
he gazed round the apartment prepared for him. It was a few moments before he
could bring himself to make a tour of its vast bleakness.
"I suppose that's
what they call a truckle-bed," he mused. "Oh, there is one chair --
nothing but cold water-towels made of vegetable fibre apparently. The devil
take me, is this a reformatory for bogus noblemen!"
He next gazed at the
bare whitewashed wall. On it hung one picture -- the portrait of a strangely
attired man.
"What n
shocking-looking fellow!" he exclaimed, and went up to examine it more
closely.
Then, with a stupefying
shock, he read this legend beneath it
"Count Bunker.
Philosopher, teacher, and martyr."
For a minute he stared
in rapt amazement, and then sharply rang the bell.
"Hang it," he
said to himself, "I must throw a little light on this somehow!"
Presently the elderly
man-servant appeared, this time in a state of still more obvious confusion. For
a moment he stared at the Count -- who was too discomposed by his manner to
open his lips -- and then, once more stretching out his hand, exclaimed in a
choked voice and a strong Scotch accent --
"How are ye,
Bunker!"
"What the
deuce!" shouted the Count, evading the proffered hand-shake with an agile
leap.
The poor fellow turned
scarlet, and in an humble voice blurted out --
"She told me to do
it! Miss Julia said ye'd like me to shake hands and just ca' ye plain Bunker. I
beg your pardon, sir; oh, I beg your pardon humbly!"
The Count looked at him
keenly.
"He is evidently
telling the truth," he thought.
Thereupon he took from
his pocket half a sovereign.
"My good
fellow," he began. "By the way, what's your name?"
"Mackenzie,
sir."
"Mackenzie, my
honest friend, I clearly perceive that Miss Wallingford, in her very kind efforts
to gratify my unconventional tastes, has put herself to quite unnecessary
trouble. She has even succeeded in surprising me, and I should be greatly
obliged if you would kindly explain to me the reasons for her conduct, so far
as you can."
At this point the
half-sovereign changed hands.
"In the first
place," resumed the Count, "what is the meaning of this remarkably
villainous portrait labelled with my name?"
"That, sir,"
stammered Mackenzie, greatly taken aback by the inquiry. "Why, sir, that's
the famous Count Bunker -- your uncle, sir, is he no'?"
Bunker began to see a
glimmer of light, though the vista it illumined was scarcely a much pleasanter
prospect than the previous bank of fog. He remembered now, for the first time
since his journey north, that the Baron, in dubbing him Count Bunker, had
encouraged him to take the title on the ground that it was a real dignity once
borne by a famous personage; and in a flash he realized the pitfalls that
awaited a solitary false step.
"That my
uncle!" he exclaimed with an air of pleased surprise, examining the
portrait more attentively; "by Gad, I suppose it is! But I can't say it is
a flattering likeness. `Philosopher, teacher, and martyr' -- how apt a
description! I hadn't noticed that before, or I should have known at once who
it was."
Still Mackenzie was
looking at him with a perplexed and uneasy air.
"Miss Wallingford,
sir, seems under the impression that you would be wanting jist the same kind of
things as he likit," he remarked diffidently.
The Count laughed.
"Hence the
condemned cell she's put me in? I see! Ha, ha! No, Mackenzie, I have moved with
the times. In fact, my uncle's philosophy and teachings always struck me as
hardly suitable for a gentleman."
"I was thinking
that mysel'," observed Mackenzie.
"Well, you
understand now how things are, don't you? By the way, you haven't put out my
evening clothes, I notice."
"You werena to
dress, sir, Miss Julia said."
"Not to dress!
What the deuce does she expect me to dine in?"
With a sheepish grin
Mackenzie pointed to something upon the bed which the Count had hitherto taken
to be a rough species of quilt.
"She said you
might like to wear that, sir."
The Count took it up.
"It appears to be
a dressing-gown!" said he.
"She said, sir,
your uncle was wont to dine in it."
"Ah! It's one of
my poor uncle's eccentricities, is it? Very nice of Miss Wallingford; but all
the same I think you can put out my evening clothes for me; and, I say, get me
some hot water and a couple of towels that feel a little less like sandpaper,
will you? By the way -- one moment, Mackenzie! -- you needn't mention anything
of this to Miss Wallingford. I'll explain it all to her myself."
It is remarkable how
the presence or absence of a few of the very minor accessories of life will
affect the humor even of a man so essentially philosophical as Count Bunker.
His equanimity was most marvelously restored by a single jugful of hot water,
and by the time he came to survey his blue lapels in the mirror the completest
confidence shone in his humorous eyes.
"How deuced
pleased she'll be to find I'm a white man after all," he reflected.
"Supposing I'd really turned out a replica of that unshaved heathen on the
wall -- poor girl, what a dull evening she'd have spent! Perhaps I'd better
break the news gently for the chaperon's sake, but once we get her of to bed I
rather fancy the fair Julia and I will smile together over my dear uncle's
dressing-gown!"
And in this humor he
strode forth to conquer.
COUNT BUNKER could not
but observe that Miss Wallingford's eyes expressed more surprise than pleasure
when he entered the drawing- room, and he was confirmed in his resolution to
let his true character appear but gradually. Afterwards he could not
congratulate himself too heartily on this prudent decision.
"I fear," he
said, "that I am late." (It was in fact half-past six by now.)
"I have been searching through my wardrobe to find some nether garments at
all appropriate to the overall -- if I may so term it -- which you were kind
enough to lay out for me. But I found mustard of that particular shade so hard
to match that I finally decided in favor of this more conventional habit. I
trust you don't mind?"
Both the ladies, though
evidently disappointed, excused him with much kindness, and Miss Minchell
alluded directly to his blue lapels as evidence that even now he held himself
somewhat aloof from strict orthodoxy.
"May we see any
allusion to your uncle, the late Count Bunker, in his choice of color?"
she asked in a reverently hushed voice.
"Yes,"
replied the Count readily; "my aunt's stockings were of that hue."
From the startled
glances of the two ladies it became plain that the late Count Bunker had died a
bachelor.
"My other aunt,"
he exclaimed unabashed; yet nevertheless it was with decided pleasure that he
heard dinner announced immediately afterwards.
"They seem to know
something about my uncle," he said to himself. "I must glean a few
particulars too."
A horrible fear lest
his namesake might have dined solely upon herbs, and himself be expected to
follow his example, was pleasantly dissipated by a glance at the menu; but he
confessed to a sinking of his heart when he observed merely a tumbler beside his
own plate and a large brown jug before him.
"Good
heavens!" he thought, "do they imagine an Austrian count is
necessarily a beer drinker?"
With a sigh he could
not quite smother, he began to pour the contents into his glass, and then set
it down abruptly, emitting a startled exclamation.
"What is the
matter?" cried Julia sympathetically.
Her eyes (he was
embarrassed to note) followed his every movement like a dog's, and her
apprehension clearly was extreme.
"This seems to be
water," smiled the Count, with an effort to carry off their error as
pleasantly for them as possible.
"Isn't it good
water?" asked Julia with an air of concern.
It was the Count's turn
to open his eyes.
"You have
concluded then that I am a teetotaler?"
"Of course, we know
you are!"
"If we may judge
by your prefaces," smiled Miss Minchell.
The Count began to
realize the hazards that beset him; but his spirit stoutly rose to meet the
shock of the occasion.
"There is no use
in attempting to conceal my idiosyncrasies, I see," he answered. "But
to-night, will you forgive me if I break through the cardinal rule of my life
and ask you for a little stimulant? My doctor ---- "
"I see!"
cried Miss Wallingford compassionately. "Of course, one can't dispute a
doctor's orders. What would you like?"
"Oh, anything you
have. He did recommend champagne -- if it was good; but anything will do."
"A bottle of the
very best champagne, Mackenzie!"
The dinner now became
an entirely satisfactory meal. Inspired by his champagne and by the success of
his audacity in so easily surmounting all difficulties, the Count delighted his
hostesses by the vivacity and originality of his conversation. On the one hand,
he chose topics not too flippant in themselves and treated them with a becomingly
serious air; on the other, he carefully steered the talk away from the
neighborhood of his uncle.
"By the time I
fetch out my banjo they'll have forgotten all about him," he said to
himself complacently.
Knowing well the
importance of the individual factor in all the contingencies of life, he set
himself, in the meanwhile, to study with some attention the two ladies beside
him. Miss Minchell he had already summarized as an agreeable nonentity, and
this impression was only confirmed on better acquaintance. It was quite
evident, he perceived, that she was dragged practically unresisting in Miss
Wallingford's wake -- even to the length of abetting the visit of an unknown
bachelor in the absence of Miss Wallingford's parent.
As for Julia, he
decided that she was even better- looking and more agreeable than he had at
first imagined; though, having the gayest of hearts himself, he was a trifle
disconcerted to observe the uniform seriousness of her ideas. How one could
reconcile her ecstatic enthusiasm for the ideal with her evident devotion to
himself he was at a loss to conceive.
"However, we will
investigate that later," he thought.
But first came a more
urgent question: Had his uncle and his "prefaces" committed him to
forswear tobacco? He resolved to take the bull by the horns.
"I hope you will
not be scandalized to learn that I have acquired the pernicious habit of
smoking?" he said as they rose from the table.
"I told you he was
smoking a cigar at Hechnahoul!" cried Miss Minchell with an air of
triumph.
"I thought you
were mistaken," said Julia, and the Count could see that he had slipped a
little from his pedestal.
This must not be
permitted; yet he must smoke.
"Of course I don't
smoke real tobacco!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, in that
case," cried Julia, "certainly then you may smoke in the
drawing-room. What is it you use?"
"A kind of herb
that subdues the appetites, Miss Wallingford."
He could see at a
glance that he was more firmly on his pedestal than ever.
I HAVE been longing for
this moment!" said Julia softly.
The Count and she were
seated over the drawing-room fire, Bunker in an easy-chair, smoking one of the
excellent cigars which he had so grievously slandered, Julia upon a stool by
his knees, her face suffused with the most intense expression of rapture. Miss
Minchell was in the background, shrouded in shadow, purporting to be enjoying a
nap; yet the Count could not but think that in so large a house a separate
apartment might well have been provided for her. Her presence, he felt,
circumscribed his actions uncomfortably.
"So have I!"
he murmured, deeming this the most appropriate answer.
"Now we can talk
about him!"
He started, but
preserved his composure.
"Couldn't we keep
him till morning?" he suggested.
"But that is why
you are here!"
She spoke as if this
were self-evident; while the Count read himself a thousand lessons upon the
errors vanity is apt to lead one into. Yet his politeness remained unruffled.
"Of course,"
he answered. "Of course! But you see my knowledge of him ---- "
He was about to say
that it was very slight, when, fortunately for him, she interrupted with an
eager --
"I know! I know!
You were more than a son to him!"
"The deuce and
all!" thought the Count. "That was a narrow squeak!"
"Do you
know," she continued in the same tone, "I have actually had the
audacity to translate one of his books -- your preface and all."
"I understand the
allusion now," thought Bunker.
Aloud he had the
presence of mind to inquire --
"Which was
it?"
" `Existence
Seriously Reviewed.' "
"You couldn't have
made a better choice," he assured her.
"And now, what can
you tell me about him?" she cried.
"Suppose we talk
about the book instead," suggested Bunker, choosing what seemed the lesser
of two evils.
"Oh, do!"
She rose impetuously,
brought with a reverent air a beautifully written and neatly tied-up
manuscript, and sat again by his knee. Looking over his shoulder he could see
that the chaperon was wide awake and prepared to listen rapturously also.
"I have so often
longed to have some one with me who could explain things -- the very deep
things, you know. But to think of having you -- the Editor and nephew! It's too
good to be true."
"Only eight
o'clock," he said to himself, glancing at the clock. "I'm in for a
night of it."
The vision of a game of
bridge and a coon song on the banjo from that moment faded quite away, and the
Count even tucked his feet as far out of sight as possible, since those
entrancing socks served to remind him too poignantly of what might have been.
"What exactly did
he mean by this?" began Julia, " `Let Potentates fear! Let Dives
tremble! The horny hand of the poor Man in the Street is stretched forth to
grasp his birthright!' "
"For `birthright'
read `pocket-book.' There's a mistake in the translation," he answered
promptly. "It appears to be an indirect argument for an increase in the
Metropolitan police."
"Are you sure? I
thought -- surely it alludes to Socialism!"
"Of course; and
the best advertisement for Socialism is a collision with the bobbies. My uncle
was a remarkably subtle man, I assure you."
"How very
ingenious!" exclaimed Miss Minchell from the background.
Julia did her best to
feel convinced; but it was in a distinctly less ecstatic voice that she read
her next extract.
" `Alcohol,
riches, and starched linen are the moths and worms of society.' I suppose he
means that they eat away its foundations?"
"On the contrary,
he was an enthusiastic entomologist. He merely meant to imply that it isn't
every one who can appreciate a glass of port and a clean shirt."
"But he didn't
appreciate those things himself!"
"No; poor fellow.
He often wished he could, though."
"Did he
really?"
"Oh, you've no
idea how tired he grew of flannel and ginger-beer! Many a time he's said to me,
`My boy, learn to take what's set before you, even at an alderman's table.' Ah,
his was a generous creed, Miss Wallingford!"
"Yes, I suppose it
was," said Julia submissively.
His advantage in being
able to claim an intimate personal knowledge of the late philosopher's tastes
encouraged the Count greatly. Realizing that a nephew could not well be
contradicted, he was emboldened to ask whether there were any more points on
which his authority could be of assistance.
"Oh yes,"
said she, "only -- only somehow you seem to throw a different light on
everything."
"Naturally,
dear," chimed in Miss Minchell, "a personal explanation always makes
things seem different."
Julia sighed, but summed
up her courage to read out --
" `When woman is
prized according to her intellect and man according to his virtue; oh, then
mankind will return to Eden!' "
"That," said
he, "is one of the rare instances of my uncle's pessimism."
"Of his pessimism!
How can you say that?"
"He meant to imply
that mankind would have to wait for some considerable time. But do not feel
dismayed. My own opinion is that so long as woman is fair and man has the wit
to appreciate her, we are in Eden."
The gracious tone in
which he delivered this dictum, and the moving smile that accompanied it,
appeared to atone completely for his relative's cynical philosophy. With a
smile and a sigh Julia murmured --
"Do you really
think so?"
"I do," said
the Count fervently; "and now suppose we were to have a little
music?"
"Oh yes!"
cried Miss Minchell; "do you perform, Count Bunker?"
"I sometimes sing
a little to the guitar."
"To the
guitar!" said Julia. "How delicious! Have you brought it?"
"I have been so
bold," he smiled, and promptly went to fetch this instrument.
In a few minutes he
returned with an apologetic air.
"I find that by
some error they have sent me away with a banjo instead," he exclaimed.
"But I dare say I could manage an accompaniment on that if you would
condescend to listen to me."
He felt so exceedingly
disinclined for expounding a philosophy any longer that he gave them no time to
dissent, even had they wished to, but on the instant struck up that pathetic
ditty --
"Down by whar de beans grow blue." And no sooner had he finished it than (barely waiting for
his meed of applause) he further regaled them with --
"Twould make a fellow Turn green and yellow! Finally, as a tit-bit, he contributed --
"When hubby s gone to Brighton, And I ve sent the cook to bed, Oh
who's that a-knocking on the window!" At
the conclusion of this concert he knew not whether to feel more relieved or
chagrined to observe that his fair hostess had her eyes fixed upon the clock.
Thanking him with a slightly embarrassed air, she threw a pointed glance at
Miss Minchell, and the two ladies rose.
"I am afraid you
will think we keep very early hours," she began.
"It is one of the
best rules in my uncle's philosophy," he interposed.
Yet though glad enough
to have come so triumphantly to the end of his ordeal, he could not bring
himself to let his charming disciple leave him in a wounded or even
disappointed mood. As soon as Miss Minchell had passed through the door he
quietly laid his hand upon Julia's arm, and with a gesture beckoned her back
into the room.
"Pardon my seeming
levity, Miss Wallingford," he said in a grave and gentle voice, "but
you know not what emotions I had to contend with! I thank you for your charming
sympathy, and I beg you to accept in my uncle's name that salute by which his
followers distinguish the faithful."
And he thereupon kissed
the blushing girl with a heartiness that restored her confidence in him
completely.
"Well," he
said to himself as he retired with his candle, "I've managed to get a fair
penn'orth out of it after all."
IN spite of the Spartan
transformation which Sir Justin's bedroom had undergone, our adventurer enjoyed
an excellent night's rest. So fast asleep was he at the hour of eight next
morning that it took him a few seconds to awake to the full possession of his
faculties, even when disturbed by a loud exclamation at his bedside. He then
became aware of the presence of an entire stranger in his room -- a tall and
elderly man, with a long nose and a grizzled beard. This intruder had
apparently just drawn up the blind, and was now looking about him with an expression
of the greatest concern.
"Mackenzie!"
he cried, in the voice of one accustomed to be heard with submission,
"What have you been doing to my room?"
The butler, too
confused for coherent speech, was in the act of bringing in a small
portmanteau.
"I -- I mentioned,
Sir Justin, your room was hardly ready for ye, sir. Perhaps, sir, if ye'd come
into the pink room ---- "
"What the deuce,
there's hardly a stick of furniture left! And whose clothes are these?"
"Mine,"
answered the Count suavely.
The stranger started
violently, and turned upon the bed an eye at first alarmed, then rapidly
becoming lit with indignation.
"Who -- who is
this?" he shouted.
"That, sir -- that
---- " stammered Mackenzie.
"Is Count
Bunker," said the Count, who remained entirely courteous in spite of the
inconvenience of this intrusion. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Sir
Justin Wallingford?"
"You have,
sir."
"In that case,
Mackenzie will be able to give you a satisfactory account of my presence; and
in half an hour or so I shall have the pleasure of joining you
downstairs."
The Count, with a
polite smile, turned over in bed, as though to indicate that the interview was
now at an end. But his visitor apparently had other views.
"I should be
obliged by some explanation from yourself of your entry into my house,"
said he, steadily keeping his eye upon the Count.
"Now how the deuce
shall I get out of this hole without letting Julia into another?" wondered
Bunker; but before he could speak, Mackenzie had blurted out --
"Miss Wallingford,
sir -- the gentleman is a friend of hers, sir."
"What!"
thundered Sir Justin.
"I assure you that
Miss Wallingford was actuated by the highest motives in honoring me with an
invitation to The Lash," said Bunker earnestly.
He had already
dismissed an ingenious account of himself as a belated wanderer, detained by
stress of weather, as certain to be contradicted by Julia herself, and decided
Instead on risking all upon his supposed uncle's saintly reputation.
"How came she to
invite you, sir?" demanded Sir Justin.
"As my uncle's
nephew, merely."
Sir Justin stared at
him in silence, while he brought the full force of his capacious mind to bear
upon the situation.
"Your name, you
say, is Bunker?" he observed at length.
"Count
Bunker," corrected that nobleman.
"Ah! Doubtless,
then, you are the same gentleman who has been residing with Lord
Tulliwuddle?"
"I am unaware of a
duplicate."
"And the uncle you
allude to ---- ?"
By a wave of his hand
the Count referred him to the portrait upon the wall. Sir Justin now stared at
it.
"Bunker -- Count
Bunker," he repeated in a musing tone, and then turned to the present
holder of that dignity with a look in his eye which the adventurer disliked
exceedingly.
"I will confer
with you later," he observed. "Mackenzie, remove my
portmanteau."
In a voice inaudible to
the Count he gave another order, which was followed by Mackenzie also removing
the Count's clothes from their chair.
"I say,
Mackenzie!" expostulated Bunker, now beginning to feel seriously uneasy;
but heedless of his protest the butler hastened with them from the room.
Then, with a grim smile
and a surprising alacrity of movement, Sir Justin changed the key into the
outside of the lock, passed through the door, and shut and locked it behind
him.
"The devil!"
ejaculated Count Bunker.
Here was a pretty
predicament! And the most ominous feature about it appeared to him to be the
deliberation with which his captor had acted. It seemed that he had got himself
into a worse scrape than he could estimate.
He wasted no time in
examining his prison with an eye to the possibility of an escape, but it became
very quickly evident that he was securely trapped. From the windows he could
not see even a water-pipe within hail, and the door was unburstably ponderous.
Besides, a gentleman attired either in pajamas or evening dress will naturally
shrink from flight across country at nine o'clock in the morning. It seemed to
the Count that he was as well in bed as anywhere else, and upon this opinion he
acted.
In about an hour's time
the door was cautiously unlocked, and a tray, containing some breakfast, laid
upon the floor; but at the same time he was permitted to see that a cordon of
grooms and keepers guarded against his flight. He showed a wonderful appetite,
all circumstances considered, smoked a couple of cigars, and at last decided
upon getting up and donning his evening clothes. Thereafter nothing occurred,
beyond the arrival of a luncheon tray, till the afternoon was well advanced; by
which time even his good spirits had become a trifle damped, and his
apprehensions considerably increased.
At last his prison door
was again thrown open, this time by Sir Justin himself.
"Come in, my
dear," he said in a grave voice; and with a downcast eye and scarlet cheek
the fair Julia met her guest again.
Her father closed the
door, and they seated themselves before their prisoner, who, after a profound
obeisance to the lady, faced them from the edge of his bed with an air of more
composure than he felt.
"I await your
explanation, Sir Justin," he began, striking at once the note which seemed
to him (so far as he could guess) most likely to be characteristic of an
innocent and much-injured man.
"You shall have
it," said Sir Justin grimly. "Julia, you asked this person to my
house under the impression that he was the nephew of that particularly
obnoxious fanatic, Count Herbrand Bunker, and still engaged upon furthering his
relative's philanthropic and other visionary schemes."
"But isn't he ----
" began Julia with startled eyes.
"I am Count
Bunker," said our hero firmly.
"The nephew in
question?" inquired Sir Justin.
"Certainly,
sir."
Again Sir Justin turned
to his daughter.
"I have already
told you what I think of your conduct under any circumstances. What your
feelings will be I can only surmise when I inform you that I have detained this
adventurer here until I had time to despatch a wire and receive an answer from
Scotland Yard."
Both Count and Julia
started.
"What, sir!"
exclaimed Bunker.
Quite unmoved by his
protest, his captor continued, this time addressing him --
"My memory,
fortunately, is unusually excellent, and when you told me this morning who you
were related to, I recalled at once something I had heard of your past career.
It is now confirmed by the reply I received to my telegram."
"And what, Sir
Justin, does Scotland Yard have to say about me?"
"Julia," said
her parent, "this unhappy young man did indeed profess for some time a
regard for his uncle's teachings, and even, I believe, advocated them in
writing. In this way he obtained the disposal of considerable funds contributed
by unsuspicious persons for ostensibly philanthropic purposes. About two years
ago these funds and Count Bunker simultaneously disappeared, and your estimable
guest was last heard of under an assumed name in the republic of Uruguay."
Uncomfortable as his
predicament was, this picture of himself as the fraudulent philanthropist was
too much for Bunker's sense of humor, and to the extreme astonishment of his
visitors he went off into a fit of laughter so hearty and prolonged that it was
some time before he recovered his gravity.
"My dear
friends," he exclaimed at last, "I am not that Bunker at all! In fact
I was only created a few weeks ago. Bring me back my clothes, and in return
I'll tell you a deuced sight funnier story even than that."
Sir Justin rose and led
his daughter to the door.
"You will have an
opportunity to-morrow," he replied stiffly. "In the meantime I shall
leave you to the enjoyment of the joke."
"But, my dear sir
---- "
Sir Justin turned his
back, and the door closed upon him again.
Count Bunker's position
was now less supportable than ever.
"Escape I
must," he thought.
And hardly had he
breathed the word when a gleam of his old luck seemed to return. He was
standing by the window, and presently he observed a groom ride up on a bicycle,
dismount, and push it through an outhouse door. Then the man strolled off, and
he said to himself, with an uprising of his spirits --
"There's my steed
-- if I could once get to it!"
Then again he thought
the situation over, and gradually the prospect of a midnight ride on a bicycle
over a road he had only once traversed, clad in his emblazoned socks and
blue-lapelled coat, appeared rather less entertaining than another night's
confinement. So he lit his last cigar, threw himself on the bed, and resigned
himself to the consolations of an innocent heart and a practical philosophy.
THE clearness of the
Count's conscience may be gauged when it is narrated that no sooner had he
dismissed the stump of his cigar toward the grate than he dropped into a
peaceful doze and remained placidly unconscious of his perils for the space of
an hour or more. He was then awakened by the sound of a key being gently
turned, and his opening eyes rested upon a charming vision of Julia Wallingford
framed in the outline of the door.
"Hush!" she
whispered; "I -- I have brought a note for you!"
Smoothing his hair as
he met her, the Count thanked her with an air of considerable feeling, and took
from her hand a twisted slip of paper.
"It was brought by
a messenger -- a man in a kilt, who came in a motor car. I didn't know whether
father would let you have it, so I brought it up myself."
"Is the messenger
waiting?"
"No; he went
straight off again."
Unrolling the scrap he
read this brief message scrawled in pencil and evidently in dire haste --
"All is lost! I am
prisoner! Go straightway to London for help from my Embassy. "R. VON
B."
"Good
heavens!" he exclaimed aloud.
"Is it bad
news?" asked Julia, with a solicitude that instantly suggested
possibilities to his fertile brain.
"Horribly!" he
said. "It tells of a calamity that has befallen a very dear friend of
mine! Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph! And I a helpless prisoner!"
As he anticipated, this
outburst of emotion was not without its effect.
"I am so
sorry!" she said. "I -- I don't believe, Count Bunker, you are as
guilty as father says!"
"I swear to you I
am not!"
"Can I -- help
you?"
He thought swiftly.
"Is there any one
about the house just now?"
"Oh yes; the
keeper is stationed in the hall!"
"Miss Wallingford,
if you would atone for a deep injury which you have inadvertently done an
innocent man, bring me fifty feet of stout rope! And, I say, see that the door
of the bicycle house is left unlocked. Will you do this?"
"I -- I'll
try."
A sound on the stairs
alarmed her, and with a fleeting smile of sympathy she was gone and the door
locked upon him again.
Again the time passed
slowly by, and he was left to ponder over the critical nature of the situation
as revealed by the luckless Baron's intelligence. Clearly he must escape
to-night, at all hazards.
"What's that? My
rope?" he wondered.
But it was only the
arrival of his dinner, brought as before upon a tray and set just within the
door, as though they feared for the bearer's life should he venture within
reach of this desperate adventurer from Uruguay.
"A very large dish
for a very small appetite," he thought, as he bore his meal over to the
bed and drew his chair up before it.
It looked indeed as
though a roasted goose must be beneath the cover. He raised it, and there,
behold! lay a large coil of excellent new rope. The Count chuckled.
"Commend me to the
heart and the wit of women! What man would ever have provided so dainty a dish
as this? Unless, indeed" (he had the breadth of mind to add) "it
happened to be a charming adventuress who was in trouble."
Drinking the half pint
of moderate claret which they had allowed him to the happiness and prosperity
of all true-hearted women, he could not help regretting that his imprisoned
confederate should be so unlikely to enjoy similar good fortune.
"He went too far
with those two dear girls. A woman deceived as he has deceived them will never
forgive him. They'd stand sentry at his cell-door sooner than let the poor
Baron escape," he reflected commiserately, and sighed to think of the
disastrous effect this mishap might have both upon his friend's diplomatic
career and domestic felicity.
While waiting for the
dusk to deepen, and endeavoring to console himself for the lack of cigars with
the poor remedy of cigarettes, he employed his time profitably in tying a
series of double knots upon the line of rope. Then at last, when he could see
the stars bright above the trees and hear no sound in the house, he pulled his
bed softly to the open window, and to it fastened one end of his rope securely.
The other he quietly let drop, and losing not an instant followed it hand under
hand, murmuring anathemas on the rough wall that so scraped his evening
trousers.
On tiptoe he stole to
the door through which the bicycle had gone. It yielded to a push, and once
inside he ventured to strike a match.
"By Gad! I've a
choice of half a dozen," he exclaimed.
It need scarcely be
said that he selected the best; and after slitting with his pocket-knife the
tires of all the others, he mounted and pedalled quietly down the drive. The
lodge gates stood open; the road, a trifle muddy but clear of all traffic,
stretched visible for a long way in the starlight; the breeze blew fair behind
him.
"May Providence
guide me to the station," he prayed, and rode off into the night.
SUPPOSE the clock be
set back four-and-twenty hours, and behold now the Baron von Blitzenberg, the
diplomatist and premier baron of Bavaria, engaged in unhappy argument with
himself. Unhappy, because his reason, though so carefully trained from the
kindergarten upward, proved unable to combat the dismal onsets of superstition.
"Pooh! who cares
for an old picture?" Reason would reiterate.
"It is an
omen," said Superstition simply; and Reason stood convicted as an empty
braggart.
But if Time be the great
healer, Dinner is at least a clever quack, and when he and old Mr. Rentoul had
consumed well-nigh a bottle and a half of their host's port between them, the
outlook became much less gloomy. A particularly hilarious evening in the
drawing- room completed the triumph of mind over what he was now able to term
"jost nonsense," and he slept that night as soundly as the Count was
simultaneously slumbering in Sir Justin's bed-room. And there was no unpleasant
awakening in the Baron's case. On the contrary, all nature seemed in a
conspiracy to make the last day of his adventure pleasant. The sun shone
brightly, his razors had an excellent edge, sausages were served for breakfast,
and when he joined the family afterwards he found them as affectionately kind
as a circle of relations. In fact, the Baron had dropped more than one hint the
night before of such a nature that they had some reason for supposing
relationship imminent. It is true Eva was a little disappointed that the actual
words were not yet said, and when he made an airy reference to paying a
farewell call that morning upon their neighbors at Lincoln Lodge, she exhibited
so much disapproval in her air that he said at once --
"Ach, vell, I
shall jost go after lonch and be back in an hour and a half. I jost vish to say
good-bye, zat is all."
Little guessing how
much was to hang upon this postponement, he drove over after luncheon with a
mind entirely reassured. With only an afternoon to be safely passed, no mishap,
he was sure, could possibly happen now. If indeed the Maddisons chose to be
offended with him, why, then, his call would merely be the briefer and he would
recommend Eva for the post of Lady Tulliwuddle without qualification. It was
his critics who had reason to fear, not he.
Miss Maddison was at
home, the staff of footmen assured him, and, holding his head as high as a
chieftain should, he strode into her sanctuary.
"Do I disturb
you?"
He asked this with a
quicker beating heart. Not Eleanor alone, but her father and Ri confronted him,
and it was very plain to see that a tempest was in the brewing. Her eyes were
bright with tears and indignation; their brows heavy with formidable frowns. At
the first moment of his entering, extreme astonishment at seeing him was
clearly their dominant emotion, and as evidently it rapidly developed into a
sentiment even less hospitable.
"Why, this beats
the devil!" ejaculated Mr. Maddison; and for a moment this was the sole
response to his inquiry.
The next to speak was
Ri --
"Show it him,
Poppa! Confront him with the evidence!"
With ominous
deliberation the millionaire picked up a newspaper from the floor, where
apparently it had been crumpled and flung, smoothed out the creases, and
approached the Baron till their noses were in danger of collision. While
executing this manœuvre the silence was only broken by the suppressed sobbing
of his daughter. Then at last he spoke.
"Our mails, sir,
have just arrived. This, sir, is `The Times' newspaper, published in the city
of London yesterday morning."
He shook it in the
Baron's face with a sudden vehemence that caused that nobleman to execute an
abrupt movement backward.
"Take it,"
continued the millionaire -- "take it, sir, and explain this if you
can!"
So confused had the
Baron's mind become already that it was with difficulty he could decipher the
following petrifying announcement --
"Tulliwuddle --
Herringay. -- In London, privately, Lord Tulliwuddle to Constance, daughter of
Robert Herringay."
The Baron's brain
reeled.
"Here is another
paragraph that may interest you," pursued Mr. Maddison, turning the paper
outside in with an alarmingly vigorous movement, and presenting a short
paragraph for the Baron's inspection. This ran -- "PEER AND ACTRESS.
"As announced in
our marriage column, the wedding took place yesterday, privately, of Lord
Tulliwuddle, kinsman and heir of the late peer of that name, so well known in
London and Scottish society, and Miss Constance Herringay, better known as
`Connie Fitz Aubyn,' of the Gaiety Theatre. It is understood that the young
couple have departed for the Mediterranean."
In a few seconds given
him to prepare his mind, the Baron desperately endeavored to imagine what the
resourceful Bunker would say or do under these awful circumstances.
"Well, sir?"
said Mr. Maddison.
"It is a
lie!"
"A lie?"
Ri laughed scornfully.
"Mean to say no
such marriage took place?"
"It vas not
me."
"Who was it,
then?"
"Anozzer man,
perhaps."
"Another Lord
Tulliwuddle?" inquired the millionaire.
"Zey have made a
mistake mit ze name. Yes, zat is how."
"Can it be
possible?" cried Eleanor eagerly, her grief for the moment forgotten.
"No," said
her father; "it is not possible. The announcement is confirmed by the
paragraph. A mistake is inconceivable."
The Baron thought he
perceived a brilliant idea.
"Ach, it is ze
ozzer Tollvoddle!" he exclaimed. "So! zat is it, of course."
"You mean to say
there is another peerage of Tulliwuddle?"
"Oh, yes."
"Fetch Debrett,
Ri!"
But Ri had already not
only fetched Debrett, but found the place.
"A darned lie.
Thought so," he observed succinctly.
The luckless
diplomatist was now committed to perdition.
"It is not in ze
books," he exclaimed. "It is bot a baronetcy."
"A
baronetcy!"
"And illegitimate
also."
"Sir," burst
forth Ri, "you are a thundering liar! Is this your marriage notice?"
The Baron changed his
tactics.
"Yes!" he
declared.
Eleanor screamed.
"Don't fuss,
Eleanor," said her father kindly. "That ain't true, anyhow. Why, the
day before yesterday he was throwing that darned hammer."
"Which came down
last night in our yard with the head burst!" added Ri contemptuously.
"Found you out there too!"
"Is that so!"
exclaimed his father.
"That is so,
sir!"
The three looked at him,
and it was hard to say whether indignation or contempt was more prominent in
their faces. This was more than he could endure.
"I vill not be so
looked at!" he cried; "I vill leave you!"
"No you
won't!" said Ri.
And the Baron saw his
retreat cut of by the athletic and determined young man.
"Before you leave,
we have one or two questions to ask you," said Mr. Maddison. "Are you
Lord Tulliwuddle, or are you not?"
"Yes! -- No!"
replied the Baron.
"Which, sir?"
Expanding his chest, he
made the awe-inspiring announcement --
"I am moch greater
zan Tollyvoddle! I am ze Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg!"
"Another darned
lie!" commented Ri.
Mr. Maddison laughed
sardonically; while Eleanor, with flashing eyes, now joined in the attack upon
the hapless nobleman.
"You wretched
creature! Isn't it enough to have shammed to be one peer without shamming to be
another?"
"Bot I am! Ja, I
swear to you! Can you not see zat I am noble?"
"Curiously enough
we can't," replied Mr. Maddison.
But his daughter's
scepticism was a little shaken by the fervor of his assurances.
"But, Poppa,
perhaps he may be a German peer."
"German waiter,
more likely!" sneered Ri. "What shall we do with him? Tar and
feathers, I guess, would just about suit his complaint."
"No, Ri, no,"
said his father cautiously. "Remember we are no longer beneath the banner
of freedom. In this benighted country it might lead into trouble. Guess we can
find him accommodation, though, in that bit of genuine antique above the
harness-room. It's fitted with a very substantial lock. We'll make Dugald
M'Culloch responsible for this Baron till the police take him over."
Vain were the Baron's
protests; and upon the appearance of Dugald M'Culloch, fisherman and facto- tum
to the millionaire, accompanied by three burly satellites, vain, he perceived,
would be the most desperate resistance. He plead the privileges of a foreign
diplomatist, threatened a descent of the German army upon Lincoln Lodge,
guaranteed an intimate acquaintance with the American ambassador -- "Who
vill make you sorry for zis!" but all without moving Mr. Maddison's
resolution. Even Eleanor whispered a word for him and was repulsed, for he
overheard her father replying to her --
"No, no, Eleanor;
no more a diplomatist than you would have been Lady Tulliwuddle. Guess I know
what I'm doing."
Whereupon the late Lord
Tulliwuddle, kilt and all, was conveyed by a guard of six tall men and
deposited in the bit of genuine antique above the harness-room. This proved to
be a small chamber in a thick-walled wing of the original house, now part of
the back premises; and there, with his face buried in his hands, the poor
prisoner moaned aloud --
"Oh, my life, she
is geblasted! I am undone! Oh, I am lost!"
"Will it be so bad
as that, indeed?"
He looked up with a
start, and perceived Dugald, his jailor, gazing upon him with an expression of
indescribable sagacity.
"The master will
be sending me with his car to tell the folks at Hechnahoul," added Dugald.
Still the Baron failed
to comprehend the exchange of favors suggested by his jailor's sympathetic
voice.
"Go, zen!" he
muttered, and bent his head.
"You will not be
wishing to send no messages to your friends?"
At last the prisoner
understood. For a sovereign Dugald promised to convey a note to the Count; for
five he undertook to bribe the chauffeur to convey him to The Lash, when he
learned where that gentleman was to be found. And he further decided to be
faithful to his trust, since, as he prudently reflected --
"If he will be a
real chentleman after all it shall not be well to be hard with him. And if he
will not be, nobody shall know."
The Baron felt a trifle
less hopeless now, yet so black did the prospect remain that he firmly believed
he should never be able to raise his head again and meet the gaze of his
fellow-men; not at least if he stayed in that room till the police arrived.
NOT even the news of
Flodden brought direr dismay to Hechnahoul than Mr. Maddison's brief note. Lord
Tulliwuddle an impostor? That magnificent young man a fraud? So much geniality,
brawn, and taste for the bagpipes merely the sheep's clothing that hid a
wandering wolf? Incredible! Yet, on second thoughts, how very much more
thrilling than if he had really been an ordinary peer! And what a judgment on
the presumption of Mr. and Mrs. Gallosh! Hard luck on Eva, of course -- but,
then, girls who aspire to marry out of their own station must expect this kind
of thing.
The latter part of this
commentary was naturally not that of the pretender's host and hostess. In the
throes of their anger and chagrin their one consoling reflection was that no
friends less tried than Mr. and Mrs. Rentoul happened to be there to witness
their confusion. Yet other sufferers since Job have found that the oldest
friends do not necessarily of er the most acceptable consolation.
"Oh, oh! I feel
like to die of grief!" wailed poor Mrs. Gallosh.
"Aye; it's an
awful smack in the eye for you," said Mr. Rentoul sagely.
"Smack in the
eye!" thundered his host. "It's a criminal offence -- that's what it
is! It's a damned swindle! It's a ---- "
"Oh, hush,
hush!" interrupted Mrs. Rentoul in a shocked voice. "What words for a
lady to hear! After all, you must remember you never made any inquiries."
"Inquiries! What
for should I be making inquiries about my guests? You never dropped a word of
such a thing! Who'd have listened if I had? It was just Lord Tulliwuddle this
and Lord Tulliwuddle that from morning to night since ever he came to the
Castle."
"Duncan's so
simple-minded," groaned Mrs. Gallosh.
"And what were
you, I'd like to know? What were you?" retorted her justly incensed
spouse. "Never a word did I hear, but just that he was such an
aristocratic young man, and any one could see he had blue blood in his veins,
and stuff of that kind!"
"I more than once
had my own doubts about that," said the alcohol expert with a knowing
wink. "There was something about him ---- Ah, well, he was not exactly my
own idea of a lord."
"Your idea?"
scoffed his oldest and best of friends. "What do you know of lords, I'd
like to know?"
"Well, well,"
answered the sage peaceably, "maybe we've neither of us had much
opportunity of judging of the nobility. It's just more bad luck than anything
else that you should have gone to the expense of setting up in style in a
lord's castle and then having this downcome. If I'd had similar ambeetions it
might have been me."
This soft answer was so
far from turning away wrath, that Mrs. Rentoul again felt compelled to stem the
tide of her host's eloquence.
"Oh, hush!"
she exclaimed; "I'd have fancied you'd be having no thoughts beyond your
daughter's affliction."
"My Eva! my poor
Eva! Where is the suffering child?" cried Mrs. Gallosh. "Duncan,
what'll she be doing?"
"Making a to-do
like the rest of the women-folk," replied her husband, with rather less
sympathy than the occasion seemed to demand.
In point of fact Eva
had disappeared from the company immediately after hearing the contents of Mr.
Maddison's letter, and whatever she had been doing, it had not been weeping
alone, for at that moment she ran into the room, her face agitated, but rather,
it seemed, with excitement than grief.
"Papa, lend me
five pounds," she panted.
"Lend you -- five
pounds! And what for, I'd like to know?"
"Don't ask me now.
I -- I promise to tell you later -- some time later."
"I'll see myself
---- ! I mean, you're talking nonsense."
Eva's lip trembled.
"Hi, hist! Eva, my
dear," said Mr. Rentoul; "if you're wanting the money badly, and your
papa doesn't see his way ---- "
He concluded his
sentence with a wink and a dive into his trousers-pocket, and a minute later
Eva had fled from the room again.
This action of the sage,
being at total variance to his ordinary habits (which indeed erred on the
economical side), was attributed by his irate host -- with a certain show of
reason -- to the mere intention of annoying him; and the conversation took a
more acrimonious turn than ever. In fact, when Eva returned a few minutes later
she was just in time to hear her father thunder in an infuriated voice --
"A German waiter,
is he? Aye, that's verra probable, verra probable indeed. In fact I might have
known it when I saw you and him swilling a bottle and a half of my best port
together! Birds of a feather -- aye, aye, exactly!"
The crushing retort
which the sage evidently had ready to heap upon the fire of this controversy
was anticipated by Miss Gallosh.
"He isn't a German
waiter, papa! He is a German Baron -- and an ambassador, too!"
The four started and
stared at her.
"Where did you
learn that?" demanded her father.
"I've been talking
to the man who brought the letter, and he says that Lord Tulli -- I mean the
Baron -- declares positively that he is a German nobleman!"
"Tuts,
fiddlesticks!" scoffed her father.
"Verra like a
whale," pronounced the sage.
"I wouldn't
believe what he said," declared Mrs. Gallosh.
"One can see he
isn't," said Mrs. Rentoul.
"The kind of Baron
that plays in a German band, perhaps," added her husband, with a whole
series of winks to give point to this mot.
"He's just a
scoundrelly adventurer!" shouted Mr. Gallosh.
"I hope he'll get
penal servitude, that's what I hope," said his wife with a sob.
"And, judging from
his appearance, that'll be no new experience for him," commented the sage.
So remarkably had their
judgment of the late Lord Tulliwuddle waxed in discrimination. And, strange to
say, his only defender was the lady he had injured most.
"I still believe
him a gentleman!" she cried, and swept tearfully from the room.
WHILE his late
worshippers were trampling his memory in the mire, the Baron von Blitzenberg,
deserted and dejected, his face still buried in his hands, endured the slow
passage of the doleful afternoon. Unlike the prisoner at The Lash, who, by a
coincidence that happily illustrates the dispensations of Providence, was
undergoing at the same moment an identical ordeal, the Baron had no optimistic,
whimsical philosophy to fall back upon. Instead, he had a most tender sense of
personal dignity that had been egregiously outraged -- and also a wife. Indeed,
the thought of Alicia and of Alicia's parent was alone enough to keep his head
bowed down.
"Ach, zey most not
know," he muttered. "I shall give moch money -- hondreds of pound --
not to let zem find out. Oh, what for fool have I been!"
So deeply was he
plunged in these sorrowful meditations, and so constantly were they concerned
with the two ladies whose feelings he wished to spare, that when a hum of
voices reached his ear, one of them strangely -- even ominously -- familiar, he
only thought at first that his imagination had grown morbidly vivid. To dispel
the unpleasant fancies suggested by this imagined voice, he raised his head,
and then the next instant bounded from his chair.
"Mein Gott!"
he muttered, "it is she."
Too thunderstruck to
move, he saw his prison door open, and there, behold! stood the Countess of
Grillyer, a terrible look upon her high-born features, a Darius at either
shoulder. In silence they surveyed one another, and it was Mr. Maddison who
spoke first.
"Guess this is a
friend of yours," he observed.
One thought and one
only filled the prisoner's mind -- she must leave him, and immediately.
"No, no; I do not
know her!" he cried.
"You do not know
me?" repeated the Countess in a voice rich in promise.
"Certainly I do
not."
"She knows you all
right," said the millionaire.
"Says she
does," put in Ri in a lower voice; "but I wouldn't lay much money on
her word either."
"Rudolph! You
pretend you do not know me?" cried the Countess between wrath and
bewilderment.
"I never did ever
see sochlike a voman before," reiterated the Baron.
"What do you say
to that, ma'am?" inquired Mr. Maddison.
"I say -- I blush
to say -- that this wretched young man is my son-in-law," declared the
Countess.
As she had come to the
house inquiring merely for Lord Tulliwuddle, and been conducted straight to the
prisoner's cell, the stupefying effect of this announcement may readily be
conceived.
"What!"
ejaculated the Dariuses.
"It is not true!
She is mad! Take her avay, please!" shouted the Baron, now desperate in
his resolution to say or do anything, so long as he got rid of his formidable
relative.
The Countess staggered
back.
"Is he
demented?" she inquired.
"Say, ma'am,"
put in Ri, "are you the mother of Miss Constance Herringay?"
"Of ---- ? I am
Lady Grillyer!"
"See here, my good
lady, that's going a little too far," said the millionaire not unkindly.
"This friend of yours here first calls himself Lord Tulliwuddle, and then
the Baron von something or other. Well, now, that's two of the aristocracy in
this under- sized apartment already. There's hardly room for a third -- see?
Can't you be plain Mrs. Smith for a change?"
The Countess tottered.
"Fellow!" she
said in a faint voice, "I -- I do not understand you."
"Thought that
would fetch her down," commented Ri.
"Lead her back to
ze train and make her go to London!" pleaded the Baron earnestly.
"You stick to it,
you don't know her?" asked Mr. Maddison shrewdly.
"No, no, I do
not!"
"Is her name Lady
Grillyer?"
"Not more zan it
is mine!"
"Rudolph!"
gasped the Countess inarticulately. "He is -- he was my son!"
"Stoff and
nonsense!" roared the Baron. "Remove her! -- I am tired."
"Well," said
Mr. Maddison, "I guess I don't much believe either of you; but whether you
know each other or not, you make such a remarkably fine couple that I reckon
you'd better get acquainted now. Come, Ri."
And before either
Countess or Baron could interpose, their captors had slipped out, the key was
turned, and they were left to the dual enjoyment of the antique apartment.
"Teufel!" shouted
the Baron, kicking the door frantically. "Open him, open him! I vill pay
you a hondred pound! Goddam! Open!"
But only the gasps of
the Countess answered him.
It is generally
conceded that if you want to see the full depths of brutality latent in man,
you must thoroughly frighten him first. This condition the Countess of Grillyer
had exactly succeeded in fulfilling, with the consequence that the Baron,
hitherto the most complacent and amiable of sons-in-law, seemed ambitious of
rivalling the Turk. When he perceived that no answer to his appeals was
forthcoming, dark despair for a moment overcame him. Then the fiendishly
ingenious idea struck him -- might not a woman's screams accomplish what his
own lungs were unable to effect? Turning an inflamed and frowning countenance
upon the lady who had intrusted her daughter's happiness to his hands, he
addressed her in a deep hissing voice --
"Shcream, shcream,
voman! Shcream loudly, or I vill knock you!"
But the Countess was
made of stern stuff. Outraged and frightened though she was, she yet retorted
huskily --
"I will not
scream, Rudolph! I -- I demand an explanation first!"
Executing a step of the
sword-dance within a yard of her, he reiterated
"Shcream so zat
zey may come back!"
She blinked, but held
her ground.
"I insist upon
knowing what you mean, Rudolph! I insist upon your telling me! What are you
doing here in that preposterous kilt?"
The Baron's wits
brightened with the acuteness of the emergency.
"Ha!" he
cried, "I vill take my kilt off -- take him off before your eyes this
instant if you do not shcream!"
But she merely closed
her eyes.
"If you dare! If
you dare, Rudolph, I shall inform your Emperor! And I will not look! I cannot
see you!"
Whether in deference to
imperial prejudices, or because a kiltless man would be thrown away upon a lady
who refused to look at him, the Baron regretfully desisted from this project.
At his wits' end, he besought her --
"Make zem take you
avay, so zat you vill be safe from my rage! I do not trost myself mit you. I am
so violent as a bull! Better zat you should go; far better -- do you not
see?"
"No, Rudolph,
no!" replied the adamant lady. "I have come to guard you against your
own abandoned nature, and I shall only leave this room when you do!"
She sat down and faced
him, palpitating, but immovable; and against such obstinacy the unhappy Rudolph
gave up the contest in despair.
"But I shall not
talk mit her; oh, Himmel, nein!" he said to himself; and in pursuance of
this policy sat with his back turned to her while the shadows of evening
gradually filled the room. In vain did she address him: he neither answered nor
moved. Indeed, to discourage her still further, he even summoned up a forced
gaiety of demeanor, and in a low rumble of discords sang to himself the least
respectable songs he knew.
"His mind is
certainly deranged," thought the Countess. "I must not let him out of
my sight. Ah, poor Alicia!"
But in time, when the
dusk was thickening so fast that her son-in-law's broad back had already grown
indistinct of outline, and no voice or footstep had come near their prison, her
thoughts began to wander from his case to her own. The outrageous conduct of
those Americans in discrediting her word and incarcerating her person, though
overshadowed at the time by the yet greater atrocity of the Baron's behavior,
now loomed up in formidable proportions. And the gravity of their offence was
emphasized by an unpleasant sensation she now began to experience with
considerable acuteness.
"Do they mean to
starve us as well as insult us?" she wondered.
The Baron's thoughts
also seemed to have drifted into a different channel. He no longer sang; he
fidgeted in his chair; he even softly groaned; and at last he actually changed
his attitude so far as to survey the dim form of his mother-in-law over one
shoulder.
"Oh, ze
devil!" he exclaimed aloud. "I am so hongry!"
"That is no reason
why you should also be profane," said the Countess severely.
"I did not speak
to you," retorted the Baron, and again a constrained silence fell on the
room.
The Baron was the first
to break it.
"Ha!" he
cried. "I hear a step."
"Thank God!"
exclaimed the Countess devoutly.
In the blaze of a
stable lantern there entered to them Dugald M`Culloch, jailor.
"Will you be for
any supper?" he inquired, with a politeness he felt due to prisoners with
purses.
"I do
starve!" replied the Baron.
"And I am nearly
fainting!" cried the Countess.
Both rose with an
alacrity astonishing in people so nearly exhausted, and made as though they
would pass out. With a deprecatory gesture Dugald arrested them.
"I will bring your
supper fery soon," said he.
"Here?"
gasped the Countess.
"It is the master's
orders."
"Tell him I vill
have him ponished mit ze law, if he does not let me come out!" roared the
Baron.
Their jailor was
courtesy itself; but it was in their prison that they supped -- a silent meal,
and very plain. And, bitterest pill of all, they were further informed that in
their prison they must pass the night.
"In ze same
room!" cried the Baron frantically. "Impossible! Improper!"
Even his
mother-in-law's solicitude shrank from this vigil; but with unruffled
consideration for their comfort their guardian and his assistants made up two
beds forthwith. The Baron, subdued to a fierce and snarling moodiness, watched
their preparations with a lurid eye.
"Put not zat bed
so near ze door," he snapped.
In his ear his jailor
whispered, "That one's for you, sir, and dinna put off your clothes!"
The Baron started, and
from that moment his air of resignation began to affront the Countess as deeply
as his previous violence. When they were again alone, stretched in black
darkness each upon their couch, she lifted up her voice in a last word of
protest --
"Rudolph! have you
no single feeling for me left? Why didn't you stab that man?"
But the Baron merely
retorted with a lifelike affectation of snoring.
FOR a long time the Baron
lay wide awake, every sense alert, listening for the creak of a footstep on the
wooden stair that led up from the harness-room to his prison. What else could
the strange words of Dugald have meant, save that some friend proposed to climb
those stairs and gently open that stubborn door? And in this opinion he had
been confirmed when he observed that on Dugald's departure the key turned with
a silence suggesting a recently oiled lock. His bed lay along the wall, with
the head so close to the door that any one opening it and stretching forth a
hand could tweak him by the nose without an effort (supposing that were the
object of their visit). Clearly, he thought, it was not thus arranged without
some very special purpose. Yet when hour after hour passed and nothing
happened, he began to sleep fitfully, and at last, worn out with fruitless
waiting, dropped into a profound slumber.
He was in the midst of
a harassing dream or drama, wherein Bunker and Eva played an incoherent part
and he himself passed wearily from peril to peril, when the stage suddenly was
cleared, his eyes started open, and he became wakefully conscious of a little
ray of light that fell upon his face. Before he could raise his head a soft
voice whispered urgently,
"Don't move!"
With admirable
self-control he obeyed implicitly.
"Who is
zere?" he whispered back.
The voice seemed for a
moment to hesitate, and then answered --
"Eleanor
Maddison!"
He started so audibly
that again she breathed peremptorily --
"Hush! Lie still
till I come back. You -- you don't deserve it, but I want to save you from the
disgrace of arrest."
"Ach, zank you --
mine better angel!" he murmured, with a fervor that seemed not unpleasing
to his rescuer.
"You really are a
nobleman in trouble?"
"I swear I
am!"
"And didn't mean
anything really wrong?"
"Never -- oh,
never!"
More kindly than before
she murmured --
"Well, I guess
I'll take you out, then. I've bribed Dugald, so that's all right. When my car's
ready I'll send him up for you. You just lie still till he comes."
From which it appears
that Count Bunker's appreciation of the sex fell short of their meed.
Hardly daring to
breathe for fear of awakening his fellow-prisoner, trembling with agitation,
and consumed by a mad impatience for action, the Baron passed five of the
longest minutes he had ever endured. At the end of that time he heard a
stealthy step upon the stairs, and with infinite precautions threw off his
bedclothes and sat upright, ready for instant departure. But how slowly and
with what a superfluity of precaution his jailor moved! When the door at length
opened he wondered that no ray of light fell this time.
"Dugald!" he
whispered eagerly.
"Hush!"
replied a softer voice than Dugald's; as soft, indeed, as Eleanor's, yet
clearly different.
"Who is zat?"
he gasped.
"Eva
Gallosh!" said the silken voice. "Oh, is that you?"
"Yes -- yes -- it
is me."
"And are you
really a Baron and an ambassador?"
"Oh yes -- yes --
certainly I am."
"Then -- then I've
come to help you to escape! I've bribed Dugald -- and I've got a dog-cart here.
Come quickly -- but oh, be very quiet!"
For a moment the Baron
actually hesitated to flee from that loathed apartment. It seemed to him that
if Fortune desired to provide him with opportunities of escape she might have
had the sense to offer these one at a time. For how could he tell which of
these overtures to close with? A wrong decision might be fatal; yet time
unquestionably pressed.
"Mein Gott!"
he muttered irresolutely, "vich shall I do?"
At that moment the
other bed creaked, and, to his infinite horror, he heard a suspicious voice
demand --
"Is that you
talking, Rudolph?"
Poor Eva, who was quite
unaware of the presence of another prisoner, uttered a stifled shriek; with a
cry of "Fly, quickly!" the Baron leaped from his bed, and headlong
down the wooden stairs they clattered for freedom.
A dim vision of the
thrice-bribed Dugald, screeching, "The car's ready for ye, sir!" but
increased their speed.
Outside, a motor car
stood panting by the door, and in the youthful driver, turning a pale face
toward them in the lamp's radiance, the Baron had just time to recognize his
first fair deliverer.
"Good-bye!"
he whispered to his second, and flung himself in.
Some one followed him;
the door was slammed, and with a mighty throbbing they began to move.
"Rudolph!
Rudolph!" wailed a voice behind them.
"Zank ze goodness
she is not here!" exclaimed the Baron.
"Whisht!
whisht!" he could hear Dugald expostulate.
With a violent start he
turned to the fellow-passenger who had followed him in.
"Are you not
Dugald?" he demanded hoarsely.
"No -- it's -- it's
me! I dursn't wait for my dog- cart!"
"Eva!" he
murmured. "Oh, Himmel! Vat shall I do?"
Only a screen of glass
separated his two rescuers, and the one had but to turn her head and look
inside, or the other to study with any attention the roll of hair beneath their
driver's cap, in order to lead to most embarrassing consequences. Not that it was
his fault he should receive such universal sympathy: but would these charming
ladies admit his innocence?
"How thoughtful of
Dugald to have this car ---- " began Eva.
"Hush!" he
muttered hoarsely. "Yes, it was thoughtful, but you most not speak too loudly."
"For fear ----
?" she smiled, and turned her eyes instinctively toward their driver.
"Excuse me,"
he muttered, sweeping her as gently as possible from her seat and placing her
upon the floor.
"It vill not do
for zem to see you," he explained in a whisper.
"How awful a
position," he reflected. "Oh, I hope it may still be dark ven we get
to ze station."
But with rising concern
he presently perceived that the telegraph posts along the roadside were
certainly grown plainer already; he could even see the two thin wires against a
paling sky; the road behind was visible for half a mile; the hill-tops might no
longer be confounded with the clouds-day indubitably was breaking. Also he
recollected that to go from Lincoln Lodge to Torrydhulish Station one had to
make a vast detour round half the loch; and, further, began to suspect that
though Miss Maddison's driving was beyond reproach her knowledge of topography
was scarcely so dependable. In point of fact she increased the distance by at
least a third, and all the while day was breaking more fatally clear.
To discourage Miss
Gallosh's efforts at conversation, yet keep her sitting contentedly upon the
floor; to appear asleep whenever Miss Maddison turned her head and threw a
glance inside, and to devise some adequate explanation against the inevitable
discovery at the end of their drive, provided him with employment worthy of a
diplomatist's steel. But now, at last, they were within sight of railway
signals and a long embankment; and over a pine wood a stream of smoke moved
with a swelling roar. Then into plain view broke the engine and carriage after
carriage racing behind. Regardless of risk, he leaped from his seat and flung
up the window, crying --
"Ach, look! Ve
shall be late!"
"That train is
going north," said Eleanor. "Guess we've half an hour good before
yours comes in."
So little can mortals
read the stars that he heaved a sigh of relief, and even murmured --
"Ve have timed him
very luckily!"
Ten minutes later they
descended the hill to Torrydhulish Station. The north-going train had paid its
brief call and vanished nearly from sight again; no one seemed to be moving
about the station, and the Baron told himself that nothing worse remained than
the exercise of a little tact in parting with his deliverers.
"Ach! I shall
carry it off gaily," he thought, and leaping lightly to the ground,
exclaimed with a genial air, as he gave his hand to Eva
"Vell! Now have I
a leetle surprise for you, ladies!"
Nor did he at all
exaggerate their sensation.
"Miss
Maddison!"
Alas, that it should be
so far beyond the power of mere inky words to express all that was implied in
Eva's accents!
"Miss
Gallosh!"
Nor is it less
impossible to supply the significance of Eleanor's intonation.
"Ladies,
ladies!" he implored, "do not, I pray you, misunderstand! I vas not
responsible -- I could not help it. You both vould come mit me! No, no, do not
look so at me! I mean not zat -- I mean I could not do vizout both of you. Ach,
Himmel! Vat do I say? I should say zat -- zat ---- "
He broke off with a
start of apprehension.
"Look! Zere comes
a man mit a bicycle! Zis is too public! Come mit me into ze station and I shall
eggsplain! He waves his fist! Come! you vould not be seen here?"
He offered one arm to
Eva, the other to Eleanor; and so alarming were the gesticulations of the
approaching cyclist, and so beseeching the Baron's tones, that without more ado
they clung to him and hurried on to the platform.
"Come to ze
vaiting-room!" he whispered. "Zere shall ve be safe!"
Alack for the luck of
the Baron von Blitzenberg! Out of the very door they were approaching stepped a
solitary lady, sole passenger from the south train, and at the sight of those
three, linked arm in arm, she staggered back and uttered a cry more piercing
than the engine's distant whistle.
"Rudolph!"
cried this lady.
"Alicia!"
gasped the Baron.
His rescuers said
nothing, but clung to him the more tightly, while in the Baroness's startled
eyes a harder light began to blaze.
"Who are these,
Rudolph?"
He cleared his throat,
but the process seemed to take some time, and in the meanwhile he felt the grip
of his deliverers relax.
"Who is that
lady?" demanded Eleanor.
"His wife,"
replied the Baroness.
The Baron felt his arms
freed now; but still his Alicia waited an answer. It came at last, but not from
the Baron's lips.
"Well, here you
all are!" said a cheerful voice behind them.
THEY turned as though
they expected to see an apparition. Nor was the appearance of the speaker
calculated to disappoint such expectations. Their startled eyes beheld indeed
the most remarkable figure that had ever wheeled a bicycle down the platform of
Torrydhulish Station. Hatless, in evening clothes with blue lapels upon the coat,
splashed liberally with mud, his feet equipped only with embroidered socks and
saturated pumps, his shirt-front bestarred with souvenirs of all the soils for
thirty miles, Count Bunker made a picture that lived long in their memories.
Yet no foolish consciousness of his plight disturbed him as he addressed the
Baron.
"Thank you, Baron,
for escorting my fair friends so far. I shall now take them off your
hands."
He smiled with pleasant
familiarity upon the two astonished girls, and then started as though for the
first time he recognized the Baroness.
"Baroness!"
he cried, bowing profoundly, "this is a very unexpected pleasure! You came
by the early train, I presume? A tiresome journey, isn't it?"
But bewilderment and
suspicion were all that he could read in reply.
"What -- what are
you doing here?"
He was not in the least
disconcerted.
"Meeting my
cousins" (he indicated the Misses Gallosh and Maddison with an amiable
glance), "whom the Baron has been kind enough to look after till my
arrival."
Audaciously approaching
more closely, he added, in a voice intended for her ear and the Baron's alone
--
"I must throw
myself, I see, upon your mercy, and ask you not to tell any tales out of
school. Cousins, you know, don't always want their meetings advertised -- do
they, Baron?"
Alicia's eyes softened
a little.
"Then, they are
really your ---- "
"Call 'em cousins,
please! I have your pledge that you won't tell? Ah, Baron, your charming wife
and I understand one another."
Then raising his voice
for the benefit of the company generally --
"Well, you two
will want to have a little talk in the waiting-room, I've no doubt. We shall
pace the platform. Very fit Rudolph's looking, isn't he, Baroness? You've no
idea how his lungs have strengthened."
"His lungs!"
exclaimed the Baroness in a changed voice.
Giving the Baron a wink
to indicate that there lay the ace of trumps, he answered reassuringly --
"When you learn
how he has improved you'll forgive me, I'm sure, for taking him on this little
trip. Well, see you somewhere down the line, no doubt -- I'm going by the same
train."
He watched them pass
into the waiting-room, and then turned an altered face to the two dumbfounded
girls. It was expressive now solely of sympathy and contrition.
"Let us walk a
little this way," he began, and thus having removed them safely from
earshot of the waiting- room door, he addressed himself to the severest part of
his task.
"My dear girls, I
owe you I don't know how many apologies for presuming to claim you as my
friends. The acuteness of the emergency is my only excuse, and I throw myself
most contritely upon your mercy!"
This second projection
of himself upon a lady's mercy proved as successful as the first.
"Well," said
Eleanor slowly, "I guess maybe we can forgive you for that; but what I
want to know is -- what's happened? -- who's who? -- and where just exactly are
we?"
"That's just what
I want to know too," added Eva sadly.
Indeed, they both had a
hint of tears in their eyes, and in their voices.
"What has
happened," replied the Count, "is that a couple of thoughtless
masqueraders came up here to play a little joke, and succeeded in getting
themselves into a scrape. For your share in getting us out of it we cannot feel
too grateful."
"But, who is ----
?" the girls began together, and then stopped, with a rise of color and a
suspicion of displeasure in their interchange of eyes.
"Who is who? Well,
my friend is the Baron von Blitzenberg; and the lady is, as she stated, his
wife."
"Then all this
time ---- " began Eva.
"He was
married!" Eleanor finished for her. "Oh, the heartless scoundrel! To
think that I rescued him!"
"I wouldn't have
either!" said Eva; "I mean if -- if I had known he treated you so
badly."
"Treated me! I was
only thinking of you, Miss Gallosh!"
"Dear
ladies!" interposed the Count with his ready tact, "remember his
excuse."
"His excuse?"
"The beauty, the
charm, the wit of the lady who took by storm a heart not easily captured! He
himself, poor fellow, thought it love-proof; but he had not then met her. Think
mercifully of him!"
He was so careful to
give no indication which of the rival belles was "her," that each was
able to take to herself a certain mournful consolation.
"That wasn't much
excuse," said Eleanor, yet with a less vindictive air.
"Certainly not
very much," murmured Eva.
"He ought to have
thought of the pain he was giving her," added Eleanor.
"Yes," said
Eva. "Indeed he ought!"
"Yes, that is
true," allowed the Count; "but remember his punishment! To be married
already now proves to be less his fault than his misfortune."
By this time he had
insidiously led them back to their car.
"And must you
return at once?" he exclaimed.
"We had
better," said Eleanor, with a suspicion of a sigh. "Miss Gallosh,
I'll drive you home first."
"You're too kind,
Miss Maddison."
"Oh, no!"
The Count assisted them
in, greatly pleased to see this amicable spirit. Then shaking hands heartily
with each, he said --
"I can speak for
my friend with conviction, because my own regard for the lady in question is as
deep and as sincere as his. Believe me, I shall never forget her!"
He was rewarded with
two of the kindest smiles ever bestowed upon him, and as they drove away each
secretly wondered why she had previously preferred the Baron to the Count. It
seemed a singular folly.
"Two deuced nice
girls," mused he; "I do believe I told 'em the truth in every
particular!"
He watched their car
dwindle to a scurrying speck, and then strolled back thoughtfully to purchase
his ticket.
He found the signals
down, and the far-off clatter of the train distinctly audible through the early
morning air. A few minutes more and he was stepping into a first-class
compartment, his remarkable costume earning (he could not but observe) the
pronounced attention of the guard. The Baron and Alicia, with an air of mutual
affection, entered another; both the doors were closed, everything seemed
ready, yet the train lingered.
"Start ze train!
Start ze train! I vill give you a pound -- two pound -- tree pound, to start
him!"
The Count leaped up and
thrust his head through the window.
"What the dickens
---- !" thought he.
Hanging out of the
other window he beheld the clamant Baron urging the guard with frenzied
entreaty.
"But they're
wanting to go by the train, sir," said the guard.
"No, no. Zey do
not! It is a mistake! Start him!"
Following their gaze he
saw, racing toward them, the cause of their delay. It was a motor car, yet not
the same that had so lately departed. In this were seated a young man and an
elderly lady, both waving to hold back the train; and to his vast amazement he
recognized in the man Darius Maddison, junior, in the lady the Countess of
Grillyer.
The car stopped, the
occupants alighted, and the Countess, supported on the strong arm of Ri,
scuttled down the platform.
"Bonker, take her
in mit you!" groaned the Baron, and his head vanished from the Count's
sight.
Even this ordeal was
not too much for Bunker's fidelity.
"Madam, there is
room here!" he announced politely, as they swept past; but with set faces
they panted toward the doomed von Blitzenberg.
All of the tragedy that
the Count, with strained neck, could see or overhear, was a vision of the
Countess being pushed by the guard and her escort into that first-class
compartment whence so lately the Baron's crimson visage had protruded, and the
voice of Ri stridently declaring --
"Guess you'll
recognize your momma this time, Baron!"
A whistle from the
guard, another from the engine, and they were off, clattering southward in the
first of the morning sunshine.
Inadequately attired,
damp, hungry, and divorced from tobacco as the Count was, he yet could say to
himself with the sincerest honesty
"I wouldn't change
carriages with the Baron von Blitzenberg -- not even for a pair of dry socks
and a cigar! Alas, poor Rudolph! May this teach all young men a lesson in
sobriety of conduct!"
For which moral
reflection the historian feels it incumbent upon him, as a philosopher and
serious psychologist, to express his conscientious admiration.
IT was an evening in
early August, luminous and warm; the scene, a certain club now emptied of all
but a sprinkling of its members; the festival, dinner; and the persons of the
play, that gentleman lately known as Count Bunker and his friend the Baron von
Blitzenberg. The Count was habited in tweeds; the Baron in evening dress.
"It vas good of
you to come up to town jost to see me," said the Baron.
"I'd have crossed
Europe, Baron!"
The Baron smiled
faintly. Evidently he was scarcely in his most florid humor.
"I vish I could
have asked you to my club, Bonker."
"Are you
dissatisfied with mine?"
"Oh, no, no! But
---- vell, ze fact is, it vould be reported by some one if I took you to ze
Regents. Bonker, she does have me watched!"
"The
Baroness?"
"Her mozzer."
"The deuce,
Baron!"
The diplomatist
gloomily sipped his wine.
"You did hush it
all up, eh?" he inquired presently.
"Completely."
"Zank you. I vas
so afraid of some scandal!"
"So were they;
that's where I had 'em."
"Did zey write in
moch anger?"
"No -- not very
much ; rather nice letters, in fact."
The Baron began to
cheer up.
"Ach, so! Vas zere
any news of -- ze Galloshes?"
"Yes, they seem
very well. Old Rentoul has caught a salmon. Gallosh hopes to get a fair bag
---- "
"Bot did zey say
nozing about -- about Miss Eva?"
"The letter was
written by her, you see."
"She wrote to you!
Strange!"
"Very odd, isn't
it?"
The Baron meditated for
a minute and then inquired --
"Vat of ze
Maddisons?"
"Well, I gather
that Mr. Maddison is erecting an ibis house in connection with the aviary. Ri
has gone to Kamchatka, but hopes to be back by the 12th ---- "
"And Eleanor -- no
vord of her?"
"It was she who
wrote, don't you know."
"Eleanor -- and
also to you! Bot vy should she?"
"Can't imagine;
can you?"
The Baron shook his
head solemnly. "No, Bonker, I cannot."
For some moments he
pondered over the remarkable conduct of these ladies; and then --
"Did you also hear
of ze Wallingfords?" he asked.
"I had a short
note from them."
"From him, or ----
"
"Her."
"So! Humph, zey
all seem fond of writing letters."
"Why -- have you
had any too?"
"No; and I do not
vant zem."
Yet his immunity did
not appear to exhilarate the diplomatist.
"Another bottle of
the same," said Bunker aside to the waiter. . . . . . .
It was an hour later;
the scene and the personages the same, but the atmosphere marvellously altered.
"To ze ladies,
Bonker!"
"To her,
Baron!"
"To zem
both!"
The genial heart, the
magnanimous soul of Rudolph von Blitzenberg had asserted their dominion again.
Depression, jealousy, repentance, qualms, and all other shackles of the spirit
whatsoever, had fled discomfited. Now at last he saw his late exploits in their
true heroic proportions, and realized his marvellous good fortune in satisfying
his aspirations so gloriously. Raising his glass once more, he cried --
"Dear Bonker, my
heart he does go out to you! Ach, you have given me soch a treat. Vunce more I
schmell ze mountain dew -- I hear ze pipes -- I gaze into loffly eyes -- I am
ze noblest part of mineself! Bonker, I vill defy ze mozzer of my wife! I drink
to you, my friend, mit hip -- hip -- hip -- hooray!"
"You have more
than repaid me," replied the Count, "by the spectacle you have
provided. Dear Baron, it was a panorama calculated to convert a
continent!"
"To vat should it
convert him?" inquired the Baron with interest.
"To a creed even
merrier than Socialism, more convivial than Total Abstinence, and more
perfectly designed for human needs than Esperanto -- the gospel of `Cheer up.'
"
"Sheerup?"
repeated the Baron, whose acquaintance with the English words used in commerce
and war was singularly intimate, but who was occasionally at fault with terms
of less portentous import.
"A name given to
the bridge that crosses the Slough of Despond," explained the Count.
The Baron still seemed
puzzled. "I am not any wiser," said he.
"Never cease
thanking Heaven for that!" cried Bunker fervently. "The man who once
dubs himself wise is the jest of gods and the plague of mortals."
With this handsome
tribute to the character and attainments of one of these heroes, and the
Baronial roar that congratulated the other, our chronicle may fittingly leave
them; since the mutual admiration of two such catholic critics is surely more
significant than the colder approval of a mere historian. THE END