Count Bunker
Page 6
CHAPTER VI
A carefully clothed young man, with an eyeglass and a wavering gait,walked slowly out of Euston Station. He had just seen the Scottishexpress depart, and this event seemed to have filled him with dubiousreflections. In fact, at the very last moment Lord Tulliwuddle'sconfidence in his two friends had been a trifling degree disturbed. Itoccurred to him as he lingered by the door of their reserved first-classcompartment that they had a little too much the air of gentlemendeparting on their own pleasure rather than on his business. No soonerdid he drop a fretful hint of this opinion than their affectionateprotestations had quickly revived his spirit; but now that they were nolonger with him to counsel and encourage, it once more drooped.
"Confound it!" he thought, "I hadn't bargained on having to keep outof people's way till they came back. If Essington had mentioned thatsooner, I don't know that I'd have been so keen about the notion. Hangit! I'll have to chuck the Morrells' dance. And I can't go with theGreys to Ranelagh. I can't even dine with my own aunt on Sunday. Oh, thedevil!"
The perturbed young peer waved his umbrella and climbed into a hansom.
"Well, anyhow, I can still go on seeing Connie. That's someconsolation," he told himself; and without stopping to consider whatwould be the thoughts of his two obliging friends had they known he wasseeking consolation in the society of one lady while they were arranginghis nuptials with another, the baptismal Tulliwuddle drove back to thecivilization of St. James's.
Within the reserved compartment was no foreboding, no faint-heartedpaling of the cheek. As the train clattered, hummed, and presentlythundered on its way, the two laughed cheerfully towards one another,delighted beyond measure with the prosperous beginning of theirenterprise. The Baron could not sufficiently express his gratitude andadmiration for the promptitude with which his friend had purveyed sopromising an adventure.
"Ve vill have fon, my Bonker. Ach! ve vill," he exclaimed for the thirdor 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, mydear 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'sfriend?"
"Ach! if I could."
Bunker smiled benignantly.
"Ah, Baron, you cannot suppose that I would really do Tulliwuddle suchinjustice 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 friendso aptly quoted, noblesse oblige. Of course, there can be no doubt aboutit. 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 forhis interests."
"Bot if I should fail?"
"He will be no worse off than before. Left to himself, he certainlywon'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 thetrue Grand-Seigneur air. No one would mistake you for anything but agreat aristocrat, if they merely saw you in bathing pants; whereasI have something a little different about my manner. I'm not soimpressive--not so hall-marked, in fact."
His friend's omniscient air and candidly eloquent tone impressed theBaron considerably. His ingrained conviction of his own importanceaccorded admirably with these arguments. His thirst for "life" cravedthis lion's share. His sanguine spirit leaped at the appeal. Yethis well-regulated conscience could not but state one or two patentobjections.
"Bot I have not read so moch of the Tollyvoddles as you. I do not knowze 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 hisclearest handwriting.
"You should have been a German," said the Baron admiringly.
He glanced with sparkling eyes at the note-book, and then with adistinctly greater effort the Teutonic conscience advanced anotherobjection.
"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 hissmile died away.
"Bot, Bonker, my voice! Zey tell me I haf nozing zat you vould callqvite an accent; bot a foreigner--one does regognize him, eh?"
"I shall explain that in a sentence. The romantic tincture of--well, notquite accent, is a pleasant little piece of affectation adopted by theyoung bloods about the Court in compliment to the German connections ofthe 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, moreexciting with each mile flung by. The Baron, egged on by his friend'shigh spirits and his own imagination to anticipate pleasure uponpleasure, watched with rapture the summer landscape whiz past thewindows. Through the flat midlands of England they sped; field afterfield, hedgerow after hedgerow, trees by the dozen, by the hundred,by the thousand, spinning by in one continuous green vista. Red bricktowns, sluggish rivers, thatched villages and ancient churches dark withyews, the shining web of junctions, and a whisking glimpse of waysidestations leaped towards them, past them, and leagues away behind. Butswiftly as they sped, it was all too slowly for the fresh-created LordTulliwuddle.
"Are we not nearly to Scotland yet?" he inquired some fifty times.
"'My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the dears!'" hummed theabdicated nobleman, whose hilarity had actually increased (if that werepossible) since his descent into the herd again.
All the travellers' familiar landmarks were hailed by the gleefuldiplomatist with encouraging comments.
"Ach, look! Beauteeful view! How quickly it is gone! Hurray! Ve must benearly to Scotland."
A panegyric on the rough sky-line of the north country fells wasinterrupted by the entrance of the dining-car attendant. Learning thatthey would dine, he politely inquired in what names he should engagetheir seats. Then, for an instant, a horrible confusion nearly overcamethe 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 ofhis 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 forthe 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 zereused to be a nobleman in Austria really called Count Bonker? He vas afamous man; you need not be ashamed to take his name. Vy should not yoube Count Bo
nker?"
"You prefer to travel in titled company? Well, be hanged--why not! Whenone comes to think of it, it seems a pity that my sins should always beattributed to the middle classes."
Accordingly this history has now the honorable task of chronicling theexploits of no fewer than two noblemen.