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Making as much as possible of the raconteur's privileges of clearing his throat, settling himself into good position, and gazing dreamily at the tree-tops for inspiration, he began in a slow, measured voice "In ze pass he stood. Zen gomed his enemies. He fired his gon and shooted some dead. Zen did zey run avay. Zat vas vat happened."
“Not long vas ven I see ze Lady Hilton drive past mit ze ozzer Lady Hilton and vun old lady. I raise my hat—no bow from zem. ‘Pairhaps,’ I zink, ‘zey see me not.’ Zey stop by ze side to speak viz a gentleman. I gomed up and again I raise my hat and I say, ‘How do you do, Lady Hilton? I hope you are regovered from ze dance.’ Zat was gorrect, vas it not?”
"Your senses to confound and fuddle, Behold the Wraith of Tulliwuddle!" This was sufficiently terrifying, one would think, to excuse the Baron for following the example of his host. But, though he found afterwards that he must have perspired freely, he courageously stood his ground. "Vy have you gomed here?" he demanded in a voice nearly as hollow as the Wraith.
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