Count Bunker

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COUNT BUNKER

BEING
A BALD YET VERACIOUS CHRONICLE CONTAINING
SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF TWO GENTLEMEN
WHOSE PREVIOUS CAREERS WERE TOUCHED UPON
IN A TOME ENTITLED "THE LUNATIC AT LARGE"

BY
J. STORER CLOUSTON

COUNT BUNKER

CHAPTER I

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 attache 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.

CHAPTER II

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?"

CHAPTER III

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.

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