Count Bunker [3]
yet with a lowering of his voice, "I vould not like to engage a beadle mit jost ze same feelings as me. Come here to zis corner and let us talk! Vaiter! whisky--soda-- cigars--all for two. Come, Bonker!"
Stretched in arm-chairs, in a quiet corner of the room, the two surveyed one another with affectionate and humorous interest. For three years they had not seen one another at all, and save once they had not met for five. In five years a man may change his religion or lose his hair, inherit a principality or part with a reputation, grow a beard or turn teetotaler. Nothing so fundamental had happened to either of our friends. The Baron's fullness of contour we have already noticed; in Mandell- Essington, EX Bunker, was to be seen even less evidence of the march of time. But years, like wheels upon a road, can hardly pass without leaving in their wake some faint impress, however fair the weather, and perhaps his hair lay a fraction of an inch higher up the temple, and in the corners of his eyes a hint might even be discerned of those little wrinkles that register the smiles and frowns. Otherwise he was the same distinguished-looking, immaculately dressed, supremely self-possessed, and charming Francis Bunker, whom the Baron's memory stored among its choicer possessions.
"Tell me," demanded the Baron, "vat you are doing mit yourself, mine Bonker."
"Doing?" said Essington, lighting his cigar. "Well, my dear Baron, I am endeavoring to live as I imagine a gentleman should."
"And how is zat?"
"Riding a little, shooting a little, and occasionally telling the truth. At other times I cock a wise eye at my modest patrimony, now and then I deliver a lecture with magic-lantern slides; and when I come up to town I sometimes watch cricket-matches. A devilish invigorating programme, isn't it?"
"Ha, ha!" laughed the Baron again; he had come prepared to laugh, and carried out his intention religiously. "But you do not feel more old and sober, eh?"
"I don't want to, but no man can avoid his destiny. The natives of this island are a serious people, or if they are frivolous, it is generally a trifle vulgarly done. The diversions of the professedly gay-hooting over pointless badinage and speculating whose turn it is to get divorced next--become in time even more sobering than a scientific study with diagrams of how to breed pheasants or play golf. If some one would teach us the simple art of being light-hearted he would deserve to be placed along with Nelson on his monument."
"Oh, my dear vellow!" cried the Baron. "Do I hear zese kind of vords from you?"
"If you starved a city-full of people, wouldn't you expect to hear the man with the biggest appetite cry loudest?"
The Baron's face fell further and Essington laughed aloud.
"Come, Baron, hang it! You of all people should be delighted to see me a fellow-member of respectable society. I take you to be the type of the conventional aristocrat. Why, a fellow who's been travelling in Germany said to me lately, when I asked about you--'Von Blitzenberg,' said he, 'he's used as a simile for traditional dignity. His very dogs have to sit up on their hind-legs when he inspects the kennels!' "
The Baron with a solemn face gulped down his whisky-and-soda.
"Zat is not true about my dogs," he replied, "but I do confess my life is vary dignified. So moch is expected of a Blitzenberg. Oh, ja, zere is moch state and ceremony."
"And you seem to thrive on it."
"Vell, it does not destroy ze appetite," the Baron admitted; "and it is my duty so to live at Fogelschloss, and I alvays vish to do my duty. But, ach, sometimes I do vant to kick ze trace!"
"You mean you would want to if it were not for the Baroness?"
Bunker smiled whimsically; but his friend continued as simply serious as ever.
"Alicia is ze most divine woman in ze world--I respect her, Bonker, I love her, I gonsider her my better angel; but even in Heaven, I suppose, peoples sometimes vould enjoy a stroll in Piccadeelly, or in some vay to exercise ze legs and shout mit excitement.
Stretched in arm-chairs, in a quiet corner of the room, the two surveyed one another with affectionate and humorous interest. For three years they had not seen one another at all, and save once they had not met for five. In five years a man may change his religion or lose his hair, inherit a principality or part with a reputation, grow a beard or turn teetotaler. Nothing so fundamental had happened to either of our friends. The Baron's fullness of contour we have already noticed; in Mandell- Essington, EX Bunker, was to be seen even less evidence of the march of time. But years, like wheels upon a road, can hardly pass without leaving in their wake some faint impress, however fair the weather, and perhaps his hair lay a fraction of an inch higher up the temple, and in the corners of his eyes a hint might even be discerned of those little wrinkles that register the smiles and frowns. Otherwise he was the same distinguished-looking, immaculately dressed, supremely self-possessed, and charming Francis Bunker, whom the Baron's memory stored among its choicer possessions.
"Tell me," demanded the Baron, "vat you are doing mit yourself, mine Bonker."
"Doing?" said Essington, lighting his cigar. "Well, my dear Baron, I am endeavoring to live as I imagine a gentleman should."
"And how is zat?"
"Riding a little, shooting a little, and occasionally telling the truth. At other times I cock a wise eye at my modest patrimony, now and then I deliver a lecture with magic-lantern slides; and when I come up to town I sometimes watch cricket-matches. A devilish invigorating programme, isn't it?"
"Ha, ha!" laughed the Baron again; he had come prepared to laugh, and carried out his intention religiously. "But you do not feel more old and sober, eh?"
"I don't want to, but no man can avoid his destiny. The natives of this island are a serious people, or if they are frivolous, it is generally a trifle vulgarly done. The diversions of the professedly gay-hooting over pointless badinage and speculating whose turn it is to get divorced next--become in time even more sobering than a scientific study with diagrams of how to breed pheasants or play golf. If some one would teach us the simple art of being light-hearted he would deserve to be placed along with Nelson on his monument."
"Oh, my dear vellow!" cried the Baron. "Do I hear zese kind of vords from you?"
"If you starved a city-full of people, wouldn't you expect to hear the man with the biggest appetite cry loudest?"
The Baron's face fell further and Essington laughed aloud.
"Come, Baron, hang it! You of all people should be delighted to see me a fellow-member of respectable society. I take you to be the type of the conventional aristocrat. Why, a fellow who's been travelling in Germany said to me lately, when I asked about you--'Von Blitzenberg,' said he, 'he's used as a simile for traditional dignity. His very dogs have to sit up on their hind-legs when he inspects the kennels!' "
The Baron with a solemn face gulped down his whisky-and-soda.
"Zat is not true about my dogs," he replied, "but I do confess my life is vary dignified. So moch is expected of a Blitzenberg. Oh, ja, zere is moch state and ceremony."
"And you seem to thrive on it."
"Vell, it does not destroy ze appetite," the Baron admitted; "and it is my duty so to live at Fogelschloss, and I alvays vish to do my duty. But, ach, sometimes I do vant to kick ze trace!"
"You mean you would want to if it were not for the Baroness?"
Bunker smiled whimsically; but his friend continued as simply serious as ever.
"Alicia is ze most divine woman in ze world--I respect her, Bonker, I love her, I gonsider her my better angel; but even in Heaven, I suppose, peoples sometimes vould enjoy a stroll in Piccadeelly, or in some vay to exercise ze legs and shout mit excitement.