The Count next morning consumed a solitary breakfast, his noble friend
having risen some hours previously and gone for an early walk upon the
hill. But he was far from feeling any trace of boredom, since an open
letter beside his plate appeared to provide him with an ample fund of
pleasant and entertaining reflections.
“I have not withered yet,” he said to himself. “Here is proof positive
that some blossom, some aroma remains!”
The precise terms of this encouraging epistle were these:
“THE LASH, near NETHERBRIG.
“Tuesday night.
“DEAR COUNT BUNKER,--Forgive what must seem to you INCREDIBLE boldness
(!), and do not think worse of me than I deserve. It seems such a pity
that you should be so near and yet that I should lose this chance of
gratifying my great desire. If you knew how I prized the name of Bunker
you would understand; but no doubt I am only one among many, and you do
understand better than I can explain.
“My father is away from home, and the WORLD dictates prudence; but
I know your views on conventionality are those I too have learned to
share, so will you come and see me before you leave Scotland?
“With kindest regards and in great haste because I want you to get this
to-morrow morning. Believe me, yours very sincerely,
“JULIA WALLINGFORD.”
“P.S.--If it would upset your arrangements to come only for the day,
Miss Minchell agrees with me that we could easily put you up.--J. W.”
“By Jingo!” mused the Count, “that's what I call a sporting offer. Her
father away from home, and Count Bunker understanding better than she
can explain! Gad, it's my duty to go!”
But besides the engaging cordiality of Miss Wallingford's invitation,
there was something about the letter that puzzled almost as much as it
cheered him.
“She prizes the name of Bunker, does she? Never struck me it was very
ornamental; and in any case the compliment seems a trifle stretched.
But, hang it! this is looking a gift-horse in the mouth. Such ardor
deserves to be embraced, not dissected.”
He swiftly debated how best to gratify the lady. Last night it had been
his own counsel, and likewise the Baron's desire, to leave by the night
mail that very evening, with their laurels still unfaded and blessings
heaped upon their heads. Why not make his next stage The Lash?
“Hang it, the Baron has had such a good innings that he can scarcely
grudge me a short knock,” he said to himself. “He can wait for me at
Perth or somewhere.”
And, ringing the bell, he wrote and promptly despatched this brief
telegram:
“Delighted. Shall spend to-night in passing. Bunker.”
Hardly was this point settled when the footman re-entered to inform
him that Mr. Maddison's motor car was at the door waiting to convey him
without delay to Lincoln Lodge. Accompanying this announcement came the
Silver King's card bearing the words, “Please come and see me at once.”
The Count stroked his chin, and lit a cigarette.
“There is something fresh in the wind,” thought he.
In the course of his forty-miles-an-hour rush through the odors of pine
woods, he had time to come to a pretty correct conclusion regarding
the business before him, and was thus enabled to adopt the mien most
suitable to the contingency when he found himself ushered into the
presence of the millionaire and his son. The set look upon their faces,
the ceremonious manner of their greeting, and the low buzzing of the
phonograph, audible above the tinkle of a musical box ingeniously
intended to drown it, confirmed his guess even before a word had passed.
“Be seated, Count,” said the Silver King; and the Count sat.
“Now, sir,” he continued, “I have sent for you, owing, sir, to the high
opinion I have formed of your intelligence and business capabilities.”
The Count bowed profoundly.
“Yes, sir, I believe, and my son believes, you to be a white man, even
though you are a Count.”
“That is so,” said Ri.
“Now, sir, you must be aware--in fact, you ARE aware--of the matrimonial
project once entertained between my daughter and Lord Tulliwuddle.”
“Once!” exclaimed the Count in protest.
“ONCE!” echoed Ri in his deepest voice.
“Hish, Ri! Let your poppa do the talking this time,” said the
millionaire sternly, though with an indulgent eye.
“But--er--ONCE?” repeated the Count, as if bewildered by the past tense
implied; though to himself he murmured--“I knew it!”
“When I gave my sanction to Lord Tulliwuddle's proposition, I did
so under the impression that I was doing a deal with a man, sir, of
integrity and honor. But what do I find?”
“Yes, what?” thundered Ri.
“I find, sir, that his darned my-lordship--and be damned to his
titles----”
“Mr. Maddison!” expostulated the Count gently.
“I find, Count, I find that Lord Tulliwuddle, under pretext of paying
my Eleanor a compliment, has provided an entertainment--a musical and
athletic entertainment--for another woman!”
The Count sprang to his feet.
“Impossible!” he cried.
“It is true!”
“Name her!”
“She answers, sir, to the plebeian cognomen of Gallosh.”
“A nobody!” sneered Ri.
“In trade!” added his father scornfully.
Had the occasion been more propitious, the Count could scarcely have
refrained from commenting upon this remarkably republican criticism;
but, as it was, he deemed it more advisable to hunt with the hounds.
“That canaille!” he shouted. “Ha, ha! Lord Tulliwuddle would never so
far demean himself!”
“I have it from old Gallosh himself,” declared Mr. Maddison.
“And that girl Gallosh told Eleanor the same,” added Ri.
“Pooh!” cried the Count. “A mere invention.”
“You are certain, sir, that Lord Tulliwuddle gave them no grounds
whatever for supposing such a thing?”
“I pledge my reputation as Count of the Austrian Empire, that if
my friend be indeed a Tulliwuddle he is faithful to your charming
daughter!”
Father and son looked at him shrewdly.
“Being a Tulliwuddle, or any other sort of pampered aristocrat, doesn't
altogether guarantee faithfulness,” observed the Silver King.
“If he has deceived you, he shall answer to ME!” declared the Count.
“And between ourselves, as nature's gentleman to nature's gentleman, you
may assure Miss Maddison that there is not the remotest likelihood of
this scheming Miss Gallosh ever becoming my friend's bride!”
The two Dariuses were sensibly affected by this assurance.
“As nature's gentleman to nature's gentleman!” repeated the elder with
unction, wringing his hand.
His son displayed an equal enthusiasm, and the Count departed with an
enhanced reputation and the lingering fragrance of a cocktail upon his
tongue.
“Now I think we are in comparatively smooth water,” he said to himself
as he whizzed back to the castle.
At the door he was received by the butler.
“Mr. Gallosh is waiting for you in the library, my lord,” said he,
adding confidentially (since the Count had endeared himself to all),
“He's terrible impatient for to see your lordship.”