Count Bunker [19]
a headache, and vas not vell vithin. Ach, soch zings vill happen in a new climate. Bot now I am inspired to tell you I loff you all! I zank you eggstremely! How can I return zis hospitality? I vill tell you! You must all go to Bavaria and stay mit----"
"Tulliwuddle! Tulliwuddle!" shouted Bunker frantically, to the great amazement of the company. "Allow me to invite the company myself to stay with me in Bavaria!"
The Baron turned crimson, as he realized the abyss of error into which he had so nearly plunged. Adroitly the Count covered his confusion with a fit of laughter so ingeniously hearty that in a moment he had joined in it too.
"Ha, ha, ha!" he shouted. "Zat was a leetle joke at my friend's eggspense. It is here, in my castle, you shall visit me; some day very soon I shall live in him. Meanvile, dear Mrs. Gallosh, gonsider it your home! For me you make it heaven, and I cannot ask more zan zat! Now let us gom and have some fon!"
A salvo of applause greeted this conclusion. At the Baron's impetuous request the cigars were brought into the hall, and ladies and gentlemen all trooped out together.
"I cannot vait till I have seen Miss Gallosh dance ze Highland reel," he explained to her gratified mother; "she has promised me."
"But you must dance too, Lord Tulliwuddle," said ravishing Miss Gallosh. "You know you said you would."
"A promise to a lady is a law," replied the Baron gallantly, adding in a lower tone, "especially to so fair a lady!"
"It's a pity his lordship hadn't on his kilt," put in Mr. Gallosh genially.
"By ze Gad, I vill put him on! Hoch! Ve vill have some fon!"
The Baron rushed from the hall, followed in a moment by his noble friend. Bunker found him already wrapping many yards of tartan about his waist.
"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."
Accordingly the portraits of four centuries of Tulliwuddles beheld their representative appear in the very castle of Hechnahoul with his trouser-legs capering beneath an ill-hung petticoat of tartan. And, to make matters worse in their canvas eyes, his own shameless laugh rang loudest in the mirth that greeted his entrance.
"Ze garb of Gaul!" he announced, shaking with hilarity. "Gom, Bonker, dance mit me ze Highland fling!"
The first night of Lord Tulliwuddle's visit to his ancestral halls is still remembered among his native hills. The Count also, his mind now rapturously at ease, performed prodigies. They danced together what they were pleased to call the latest thing in London, sang a duet, waltzed with the younger ladies, till hardly a head was left unturned, and, in short, sent away the ministers and their ladies, the five Miss Cameron-Campbells, the reading-party, and particularly the factor, with a new conception of a Highland chief. As for the house-party, they felt that they were fortunate beyond the lot of most ordinary mortals.
CHAPTER X
The Baron sat among his heirlooms, laboriously disengaging himself from his kilt. Fitfully throughout this process he would warble snatches of an air which Miss Gallosh had sung.
"Whae vould not dee for Sharlie?" he trolled, "Ze yong chevalier!"
"Then you don't think of leaving to-morrow morning?" asked Count Bunker, who was watching him with a complacent air.
"Mein Gott, no fears!"
"We had better wait, perhaps, till the afternoon?"
"I go not for tree veeks! Gaben sie--das ist, gim'me zat tombler. Vun more of mountain juice to ze health of all Galloshes! Partic'ly of vun! Eh, old Bonker?"
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
"Tulliwuddle! Tulliwuddle!" shouted Bunker frantically, to the great amazement of the company. "Allow me to invite the company myself to stay with me in Bavaria!"
The Baron turned crimson, as he realized the abyss of error into which he had so nearly plunged. Adroitly the Count covered his confusion with a fit of laughter so ingeniously hearty that in a moment he had joined in it too.
"Ha, ha, ha!" he shouted. "Zat was a leetle joke at my friend's eggspense. It is here, in my castle, you shall visit me; some day very soon I shall live in him. Meanvile, dear Mrs. Gallosh, gonsider it your home! For me you make it heaven, and I cannot ask more zan zat! Now let us gom and have some fon!"
A salvo of applause greeted this conclusion. At the Baron's impetuous request the cigars were brought into the hall, and ladies and gentlemen all trooped out together.
"I cannot vait till I have seen Miss Gallosh dance ze Highland reel," he explained to her gratified mother; "she has promised me."
"But you must dance too, Lord Tulliwuddle," said ravishing Miss Gallosh. "You know you said you would."
"A promise to a lady is a law," replied the Baron gallantly, adding in a lower tone, "especially to so fair a lady!"
"It's a pity his lordship hadn't on his kilt," put in Mr. Gallosh genially.
"By ze Gad, I vill put him on! Hoch! Ve vill have some fon!"
The Baron rushed from the hall, followed in a moment by his noble friend. Bunker found him already wrapping many yards of tartan about his waist.
"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."
Accordingly the portraits of four centuries of Tulliwuddles beheld their representative appear in the very castle of Hechnahoul with his trouser-legs capering beneath an ill-hung petticoat of tartan. And, to make matters worse in their canvas eyes, his own shameless laugh rang loudest in the mirth that greeted his entrance.
"Ze garb of Gaul!" he announced, shaking with hilarity. "Gom, Bonker, dance mit me ze Highland fling!"
The first night of Lord Tulliwuddle's visit to his ancestral halls is still remembered among his native hills. The Count also, his mind now rapturously at ease, performed prodigies. They danced together what they were pleased to call the latest thing in London, sang a duet, waltzed with the younger ladies, till hardly a head was left unturned, and, in short, sent away the ministers and their ladies, the five Miss Cameron-Campbells, the reading-party, and particularly the factor, with a new conception of a Highland chief. As for the house-party, they felt that they were fortunate beyond the lot of most ordinary mortals.
CHAPTER X
The Baron sat among his heirlooms, laboriously disengaging himself from his kilt. Fitfully throughout this process he would warble snatches of an air which Miss Gallosh had sung.
"Whae vould not dee for Sharlie?" he trolled, "Ze yong chevalier!"
"Then you don't think of leaving to-morrow morning?" asked Count Bunker, who was watching him with a complacent air.
"Mein Gott, no fears!"
"We had better wait, perhaps, till the afternoon?"
"I go not for tree veeks! Gaben sie--das ist, gim'me zat tombler. Vun more of mountain juice to ze health of all Galloshes! Partic'ly of vun! Eh, old Bonker?"
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