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.
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