Count Bunker [63]
though the vista it illumined was scarcely a much pleasanter prospect than the previous bank of fog. He remembered now, for the first time since his journey north, that the Baron, in dubbing him Count Bunker, had encouraged him to take the title on the ground that it was a real dignity once borne by a famous personage; and in a flash he realized the pitfalls that awaited a solitary false step.
"THAT my uncle!" he exclaimed with an air of pleased surprise, examining the portrait more attentively; "by Gad, I suppose it is! But I can't say it is a flattering likeness. 'Philosopher, teacher, and martyr'--how apt a description! I hadn't noticed that before, or I should have known at once who it was."
Still Mackenzie was looking at him with a perplexed and uneasy air.
"Miss Wallingford, sir, seems under the impression that you would be wanting jist the same kind of things as he likit," he remarked diffidently.
The Count laughed.
"Hence the condemned cell she's put me in? I see! Ha, ha! No, Mackenzie, I have moved with the times. In fact, my uncle's philosophy and teachings always struck me as hardly suitable for a gentleman."
"I was thinking that mysel'," observed Mackenzie.
"Well, you understand now how things are, don't you? By the way, you haven't put out my evening clothes, I notice."
"You werena to dress, sir, Miss Julia said."
"Not to dress! What the deuce does she expect me to dine in?"
With a sheepish grin Mackenzie pointed to something upon the bed which the Count had hitherto taken to be a rough species of quilt.
"She said you might like to wear that, sir."
The Count took it up.
"It appears to be a dressing-gown!" said he.
"She said, sir, your uncle was wont to dine in it."
"Ah! It's one of my poor uncle's eccentricities, is it? Very nice of Miss Wallingford; but all the same I think you can put out my evening clothes for me; and, I say, get me some hot water and a couple of towels that feel a little less like sandpaper, will you? By the way--one moment, Mackenzie!--you needn't mention anything of this to Miss Wallingford. I'll explain it all to her myself."
It is remarkable how the presence or absence of a few of the very minor accessories of life will affect the humor even of a man so essentially philosophical as Count Bunker. His equanimity was most marvelously restored by a single jugful of hot water, and by the time he came to survey his blue lapels in the mirror the completest confidence shone in his humorous eyes.
"How deuced pleased she'll be to find I'm a white man after all," he reflected. "Supposing I'd really turned out a replica of that unshaved heathen on the wall--poor girl, what a dull evening she'd have spent! Perhaps I'd better break the news gently for the chaperon's sake, but once we get her of to bed I rather fancy the fair Julia and I will smile together over my dear uncle's dressing-gown!"
And in this humor he strode forth to conquer.
CHAPTER XXIX
Count Bunker could not but observe that Miss Wallingford's eyes expressed more surprise than pleasure when he entered the drawing- room, and he was confirmed in his resolution to let his true character appear but gradually. Afterwards he could not congratulate himself too heartily on this prudent decision.
"I fear," he said, "that I am late." (It was in fact half-past six by now.) "I have been searching through my wardrobe to find some nether garments at all appropriate to the overall--if I may so term it-- which you were kind enough to lay out for me. But I found mustard of that particular shade so hard to match that I finally decided in favor of this more conventional habit. I trust you don't mind?"
Both the ladies, though evidently disappointed, excused him with much kindness, and Miss Minchell alluded directly to his blue lapels as evidence that even now he held himself somewhat aloof from strict orthodoxy.
"May we see any allusion to your uncle, the late Count Bunker, in his choice of color?" she asked in a reverently hushed voice.
"Yes," replied the
"THAT my uncle!" he exclaimed with an air of pleased surprise, examining the portrait more attentively; "by Gad, I suppose it is! But I can't say it is a flattering likeness. 'Philosopher, teacher, and martyr'--how apt a description! I hadn't noticed that before, or I should have known at once who it was."
Still Mackenzie was looking at him with a perplexed and uneasy air.
"Miss Wallingford, sir, seems under the impression that you would be wanting jist the same kind of things as he likit," he remarked diffidently.
The Count laughed.
"Hence the condemned cell she's put me in? I see! Ha, ha! No, Mackenzie, I have moved with the times. In fact, my uncle's philosophy and teachings always struck me as hardly suitable for a gentleman."
"I was thinking that mysel'," observed Mackenzie.
"Well, you understand now how things are, don't you? By the way, you haven't put out my evening clothes, I notice."
"You werena to dress, sir, Miss Julia said."
"Not to dress! What the deuce does she expect me to dine in?"
With a sheepish grin Mackenzie pointed to something upon the bed which the Count had hitherto taken to be a rough species of quilt.
"She said you might like to wear that, sir."
The Count took it up.
"It appears to be a dressing-gown!" said he.
"She said, sir, your uncle was wont to dine in it."
"Ah! It's one of my poor uncle's eccentricities, is it? Very nice of Miss Wallingford; but all the same I think you can put out my evening clothes for me; and, I say, get me some hot water and a couple of towels that feel a little less like sandpaper, will you? By the way--one moment, Mackenzie!--you needn't mention anything of this to Miss Wallingford. I'll explain it all to her myself."
It is remarkable how the presence or absence of a few of the very minor accessories of life will affect the humor even of a man so essentially philosophical as Count Bunker. His equanimity was most marvelously restored by a single jugful of hot water, and by the time he came to survey his blue lapels in the mirror the completest confidence shone in his humorous eyes.
"How deuced pleased she'll be to find I'm a white man after all," he reflected. "Supposing I'd really turned out a replica of that unshaved heathen on the wall--poor girl, what a dull evening she'd have spent! Perhaps I'd better break the news gently for the chaperon's sake, but once we get her of to bed I rather fancy the fair Julia and I will smile together over my dear uncle's dressing-gown!"
And in this humor he strode forth to conquer.
CHAPTER XXIX
Count Bunker could not but observe that Miss Wallingford's eyes expressed more surprise than pleasure when he entered the drawing- room, and he was confirmed in his resolution to let his true character appear but gradually. Afterwards he could not congratulate himself too heartily on this prudent decision.
"I fear," he said, "that I am late." (It was in fact half-past six by now.) "I have been searching through my wardrobe to find some nether garments at all appropriate to the overall--if I may so term it-- which you were kind enough to lay out for me. But I found mustard of that particular shade so hard to match that I finally decided in favor of this more conventional habit. I trust you don't mind?"
Both the ladies, though evidently disappointed, excused him with much kindness, and Miss Minchell alluded directly to his blue lapels as evidence that even now he held himself somewhat aloof from strict orthodoxy.
"May we see any allusion to your uncle, the late Count Bunker, in his choice of color?" she asked in a reverently hushed voice.
"Yes," replied the