“Well, the worst of it is over,” said Bunker cheerfully.
The Baron groaned. “Ze vorst is only jost beginning to gommence.”
They were sitting over a crackling fire of logs in the sitting-room of
the suite which their host had reserved for his honored visitors. How
many heirlooms and dusky portraits the romantic thoughtfulness of the
ladies had managed to crowd into this apartment for the occasion were
hard to compute; enough, certainly, one would think, to inspire the most
sluggish-blooded Tulliwuddle with a martial exultation. Instead, the
chieftain groaned again.
“Tell zem I am ill. I cannot gom to dinner. To-morrow I shall take
ze train back to London. Himmel! Vy vas I fool enof to act soch
dishonorable lies! I deceive all these kind peoples!”
“It isn't that which worries me,” said Bunker imperturbably. “I am only
afraid that if you display this spirit you won't deceive them.”
“I do not vish to,” said the Baron sulkily.
It required half an hour of the Count's most artful blandishments to
persuade him that duty, honor, and prudence all summoned him to the
feast. This being accomplished, he next endeavored to convince him that
he would feel more comfortable in the airy freedom of the Tulliwuddle
tartan. But here the Baron was obdurate. Now that the kilt lay ready to
his hand he could not be persuaded even to look at it. In gloomy silence
he donned his conventional evening dress and announced, last thing
before they left their room--
“Bonker, say no more! To-morrow morning I depart!”
Their hostess had explained that a merely informal dinner awaited them,
since his lordship (she observed) would no doubt prefer a quiet evening
after his long journey. But Mrs. Gallosh was one of those good ladies
who are fond of asking their friends to take “pot luck,” and then
providing them with fourteen courses; or suggesting a “quiet little
evening together,” when they have previously removed the drawing-room
carpet. It is an affectation of modesty apt to disconcert the retiring
guest who takes them at their word. In the drawing-room of Mrs. Gallosh
the startled Baron found assembled--firstly, the Gallosh family,
consisting of all those whose acquaintance we have already made, and in
addition two stalwart school-boy sons; secondly, their house-party, who
comprised a Mr. and Mrs. Rentoul, from the same metropolis of commerce
as Mr. Gallosh, and a hatchet-faced young man with glasses, answering to
the name of Mr. Cromarty-Gow; and, finally, one or two neighbors. These
last included Mr. M'Fadyen, the large factor; the Established Church,
U.F., Wee Free, Episcopalian, and Original Secession ministers, all of
whom, together with their kirks, flourished within a four-mile radius of
the Castle; the wives to three of the above; three young men and their
tutor, being some portion of a reading-party in the village; and Mrs.
Cameron-Campbell and her five daughters, from a neighboring dower-house
upon the loch.
It was fortunate that all these people were prepared to be impressed
with Lord Tulliwuddle, whatever he should say or do; and further, that
the unique position of such a famous hereditary magnate even led them
to anticipate some marked deviation from the ordinary canons of conduct.
Otherwise, the gloomy brows; the stare, apparently haughty, in reality
alarmed; the strange accent and the brief responses of the chief guest,
might have caused an unfavorable opinion of his character.
As it was, his aloofness, however natural, would probably have proved
depressing had it not been for the gay charm and agreeable condescension
of the other nobleman. Seldom had more rested upon that adventurer's
shoulders, and never had he acquitted himself with greater credit. It
was with considerable secret concern that he found himself placed at
the opposite end of the table from his friend, but his tongue rattled as
gaily and his smiles came as readily as ever. With Mrs. Cameron-Campbell
on one side, and a minister's lady upon the other, his host two places
distant, and a considerable audience of silent eaters within earshot,
he successfully managed to divert the attention of quite half the table
from the chieftain's moody humor.
“I always feel at home with a Scotsman,” he discoursed genially.
“His imagination is so quick, his intellect so clear, his honesty so
remarkable, and” (with an irresistible glance at the minister's lady)
“his wife so charming.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Gallosh, who was mellowing rapidly under the
influence of his own champagne. “I'm verra glad to see you know good
folks when you meet them. What do you think now of the English?”
Having previously assured himself that his audience was neat Scotch, the
polished Austrian unblushingly replied--
“The Englishman, I have observed, has a slightly slower imagination, a
denser intelligence, and is less conspicuous for perfect honesty. His
womankind also have less of that nameless grace and ethereal beauty
which distinguish their Scottish sisters.”
It is needless to say that a more popular visitor never was seen than
this discriminating foreigner, and if his ambitions had not risen above
a merely personal triumph, he would have been in the highest state of
satisfaction. But with a disinterested eye he every now and then
sought the farther end of the table, where, between his hostess and her
charming eldest daughter, and facing his factor, the Baron had to endure
his ordeal unsupported.
“I wonder how the devil he's getting on!” he more than once said to
himself.
For better or for worse, as the dinner advanced, he began to hear the
Court accent more frequently, till his curiosity became extreme.
“His lordship seems in better spirits,” remarked Mr. Gallosh.
“I hope to Heaven he may be!” was the fervent thought of Count Bunker.
At that moment the point was settled. With his old roar of exuberant
gusto the Baron announced, in a voice that drowned even the five
ministers--
“Ach, yes, I vill toss ze caber to-morrow! I vill toss him--so high!”
(his napkin flapped upwards). “How long shall he be? So tall as my
castle: Mees Gallosh, you shall help me? Ach, yes! Mit hands so fair ze
caber vill spring like zis!”
His pudding-spoon, in vivid illustration, skipped across the table and
struck his factor smartly on the shirt-front.
“Sare, I beg your pardon,” he beamed with a graciousness that charmed
Mrs. Gallosh even more than his spirited conversation--“Ach, do not
return it, please! It is from my castle silver--keep it in memory of zis
happy night!”
The royal generosity of this act almost reconciled Mrs. Gallosh to the
loss of one of her own silver spoons.
“Saved!” sighed Bunker, draining his glass with a relish he had not felt
in any item of the feast hitherto.
Now that the Baron's courage had returned, no heraldic lion ever pranced
more bravely. His laughter, his jests, his compliments were showered
upon the delighted diners. Mr. Gallosh and he drank healths down the
whole length of the table “mit no tap-heels!” at least four times.
He peeled an orange for Miss Gallosh, and cut the skin into the most
diverting figures, pressing her hand tenderly as he presented her
with these works of art. He inquired of Mrs. Gallosh the names of the
clergymen, and, shouting something distantly resembling these, toasted
them each and all with what he conceived to be appropriate comments.
Finally he rose to his feet, and, to the surprise and delight of all,
delivered the speech they had been disappointed of earlier in the day.
“Goot Mr. Gallosh, fair Mrs. Gallosh, divine Mees Gallosh, and all
ze ladies and gentlemans, how sorry I vas I could not make my speech
before, I cannot eggspress. I had 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.