Count Bunker

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"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."

CHAPTER XXIII

"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 espenditure 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.

CHAPTER XXIV

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?"

CHAPTER XXV

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!"

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