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“Sir Richard Brierley!” exclaimed the Countess; “why, Alicia and I are going to visit some relatives of ours who live only six miles from Brierley Park! When has he asked you, Baron?” “Ze end of next week.” “How odd! We are going down to Dampshire at the end of next week too. You must accept, Baron!” “I shall!” exclaimed the overjoyed Baron. “Shall ve go, Bonker?” “I’m not asked, I’m afraid.”
The Count took care to see that the mountain juice was well diluted. His friend had already found Scottish hospitality difficult to enjoy in moderation. "Baron, you gave us a marvellously lifelike representation of a Jacobite chieftain!" The Baron laughed a trifle vacantly. "Ach, it is easy for me. Himmel, a Blitzenberg should know how! Vollytoddle Toddyvolly whatsh my name, Bonker?"
“Ach, Bonker! Bot vat do I say? You are not Bonker no more, and yet may I call you so, jost for ze sake of pleasant times? It vill be too hard to change.” “I’d rather you would, Baron. It will be a perpetual in memoriam record of my departed virtues.” “Departed, Bonker?” “Departed, Baron,” his friend repeated with a sigh; “for how can I ever hope to have so spacious a field for them again?
Ve vill not like Miss Maddison, I feel sure. Vy troble mit her eh, Bonker?" "But don't you think, Baron, that we ought to give Tulliwuddle his choice? He may prefer an American heiress to a Scottish." "Not if he sees Eva Gallosh!" Again the Count gently raised his eyebrows in a way that the Baron could not help considering unsuitable to the occasion.
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."
The Baron bent forward and answered in a stage whisper, “Zey live in zis hotel, Bonker!” “Then I can only wish you joy, Baron, and if my funds allow me, send her a wedding present.” “Ach, not quite so fast, my vriend! I am not caught so easy.” “My dear fellow, a week at close quarters is sufficient to net any man.” “Ven I marry,” replied the Baron, “moch most be considered.
“Here I am, my dear Baron,” he exclaimed gaily, as he tracked the voice into the supper-room. “Ach, mine dear Bonker!” cried the Baron, folding him in his muscular embrace, “I haf here met friends, ve are merry! Ve drink to Bavaria, to England, to everyzing!”
And yet, Bonker, I zink my loff is anozzer kind—ze real!” “They are all that, Baron; but have it your own way. Anything I can do to make you worse shall be done.” “Zanks, my best of friends,” said the Baron, warmly, seizing his hand; “I knew you would stand by me!”
The standard chosen for the measurement of his wit escaped the Baron, the scheme delighted him. “Ha, Bonker! schön! I tvig! Goot!” he cried. “How shall ve do?” “Leave it to me.” The Baron reflected, and his smile died away. “Sopposing,” he said, slowly, “zey find out? Is it vise? Is it straight?” “They can’t find out.
"But, my dear fellow, you must take off your trousers," he expostulated. Despite his glee, the Baron answered with something of the Blitzenberg dignity "Ze bare leg I cannot show to-night not to dance mit ze young ladies. Ven I have practised, perhaps; but not now, Bonker."
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