Count Bunker

by J. Storer Clouston

  CHAPTER XXX

  "I have been longing for this moment!" said Julia softly.

  The Count and she were seated over the drawing-room fire, Bunker inan easy-chair, smoking one of the excellent cigars which he had sogrievously slandered, Julia upon a stool by his knees, her face suffusedwith the most intense expression of rapture. Miss Minchell was in thebackground, shrouded in shadow, purporting to be enjoying a nap; yet theCount could not but think that in so large a house a separateapartment 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 athousand lessons upon the errors vanity is apt to lead one into. Yet hispoliteness remained unruffled.

  "Of course," he answered. "Of course! But you see my knowledge ofhim----"

  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 theaudacity 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, choosingwhat seemed the lesser of two evils.

  "Oh, do!"

  She rose impetuously, brought with a reverent air a beautifully writtenand neatly tied-up manuscript, and sat again by his knee. Looking overhis shoulder he could see that the chaperon was wide awake and preparedto listen rapturously also.

  "I have so often longed to have some one with me who could explainthings--the very deep things, you know. But to think of having you--theEditor and nephew! It's too good to be true."

  "Only eight o'clock," he said to himself, glancing at the clock. "I'm infor a night of it."

  The vision of a game of bridge and a coon song on the banjo from thatmoment faded quite away, and the Count even tucked his feet as far outof sight as possible, since those entrancing socks served to remind himtoo 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 isstretched forth to grasp his birthright!'"

  "For 'birthright' read 'pocket-book.' There's a mistake in thetranslation," he answered promptly. "It appears to be an indirectargument 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 withthe 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 lessecstatic voice that she read her next extract.

  "'Alcohol, riches, and starched linen are the moths and worms ofsociety.' I suppose he means that they eat away its foundations?"

  "On the contrary, he was an enthusiastic entomologist. He merely meantto imply that it isn't every one who can appreciate a glass of port anda 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 atime 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, MissWallingford!"

  "Yes, I suppose it was," said Julia submissively.

  His advantage in being able to claim an intimate personal knowledge ofthe late philosopher's tastes encouraged the Count greatly. Realizingthat a nephew could not well be contradicted, he was emboldened to askwhether there were any more points on which his authority could be ofassistance.

  "Oh yes," said she, "only--only somehow you seem to throw a differentlight on everything."

  "Naturally, dear," chimed in Miss Minchell, "a personal explanationalways 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 tohis 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 considerabletime. But do not feel dismayed. My own opinion is that so long as womanis fair and man has the wit to appreciate her, we ARE in Eden."

  The gracious tone in which he delivered this dictum, and the movingsmile that accompanied it, appeared to atone completely for hisrelative'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 alittle 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 thisinstrument.

  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 ifyou would condescend to listen to me."

  He felt so exceedingly disinclined for expounding a philosophy anylonger 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 ofapplause) 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 morerelieved or chagrined to observe that his fair hostess had her eyesfixed upon the clock. Thanking him with a slightly embarrassed air, shethrew 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 hisordeal, he could not bring himself to let his charming disciple leavehim in a wounded or even disappointed mood. As soon as Miss Minchell hadpassed through the door he quietly laid his hand upon Julia's arm, andwith a gesture beckoned her back into the room.

  "Pardon my seeming levity, Miss Wallingford," he said in a grave andgentle 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 inmy uncle's name that salute by which his followers distinguish thefaithful."

  And he thereupon kissed the blushing girl with a heartiness thatrestored her confidence in him completely.

  "Well," he said to himself as he retired with his candle, "I've managedto get a fair penn'orth out of it after all."