“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, ifIknow 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 Bungstrumpher 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 tete-a-tetes. 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?”