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His father kissed him upon either cheek. "Come, Hans," said he, hastily, "take him hence;" and he loosed Otto's arms from about his neck. Hans took Otto upon the saddle in front of him. "Oh! my dear Lord Baron," said he, and then stopped with a gulp, and turned his grotesquely twitching face aside. "Go," said the Baron, harshly, "there is no time to lose in woman's tears."
And as the man still lingered, "I bid you go," she added. "Save yourself." Down by the private passage, and just some two hours later, Amalia Seraphina, the last Princess, followed Otto Johann Friedrich, the last Prince of Grünewald. The porter, drawn by the growing turmoil, had vanished from the postern, and the door stood open on the darkness of the night.
And the fellow, crimson with drink and injured vanity, almost spat the word into the Prince's face. A horrid confusion came over Otto. He perceived that he had acted rudely, grossly presuming on his station. And perhaps a little shiver of physical alarm mingled with his remorse, for the fellow was very powerful, and not more than half in the possession of his senses.
A small stove scarcely warmed the one room, for great cracks appeared in the walls in every direction. "We've got no dinner to-day; are you going after those Hedgehogs?" said the Tinker to his son Otto. "Now you know where they are, it will be an easy thing to get hold of them." "Yes; we'll have a fine supper to-night," said Otto, stamping his feet to get them warm.
On such occasions, Otto was not one to be driven back from his position; he very well knew how to bear down his assailant by striking and original observations: but Otto, this evening, although he was animated enough excited, one might almost say did not exhibit the calmness, the decision in his thoughts and words, which otherwise would have given him the victory.
At present the social vistas of Washington, like the vast fresh flatness of the lettered and numbered streets, which at this season seemed to Vogelstein more spacious and vague than ever, suggested but a paucity of political phenomena. Count Otto that evening knew every one or almost every one.
"Who's de little squirt, Mr. Maude?" John waved his hands. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, "why descend to mere personalities? I ought to have introduced you. This is Mr. Renshaw, our editor. These, Mr. Renshaw, are Bat Jarvis and Long Otto, our acting fighting editors, vice Kid Brady, absent on unavoidable business." The name stung Mr. Renshaw to indignation, as Smith's had done.
Truly a wonderful dog, that would catch things on its nose and lie dead, rousing only to a whistle which its owner called Gabriel's trumpet. Prince Ferdinand William Otto, growing excited, leaned quite out of the window. "What is your dog's name?" he inquired, in his clear treble. The man took off his hat and bowed. "Toto, Highness. He is of French origin." "He is a very nice dog.
Into the middle of this quaking pool a rock protruded, shelving to a cape; and thither Otto scrambled and sat down to ponder.
"Farewell," answered Otto, in his simple, quiet way, and it brought a pang to the old man's heart that the child should seem to grieve so little at the leave-taking. "Farewell, Otto," said the brethren that stood about, "farewell, farewell." Then poor brother John came forward and took the boy's hand, and looked up into his face as he sat upon his horse.
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