"Ach, of course it is not true," said the Baron more calmly, as he began to realize that it was not his own character that was being aspersed.
"I am very glad to hear it," continued Mr. Maddison, who apparently did not share the full austerity of his son's views, since without further question he hurried on to the next point.
"Item 2, sir, states that at least two West End firms are threatening you with proceedings if you do not discharge their accounts within a reasonable time."
"A lie!" declared the Baron emphatically.
"Will you be so kind as to favor us with the name of the individual who is thus libelling his lordship?" demanded the Count with a serious air.
Mr. Maddison hastily put the paper back in his pocket, and with a glance checked his son's gesture of protest.
"Guess we'd better pass on to the next thing, Ri.
I told you it wasn't any darned use just asking. But you boys always think you know better than your Poppas," said he; and then, turning to the Count, "It isn't worth while troubling, Count; I'll see that these reports get contradicted, if I have to buy up a daily paper and issue it at a halfpenny. Yes, sir, you can leave it to me."
The Count glanced at his friend, and they exchanged a grave look.
"Again we place ourselves in your hands," said Bunker.
Though considerably impressed with these repeated evidences of confidence on the part of two such important personages, their host nevertheless maintained something of his inquisitorial air as he proceeded--"For my own satisfaction, Lord Tulliwuddle, and meaning to convey no aspersion whatsoever upon your character, I would venture to inquire what are your views upon some of the current topics. Take any one you like, sir, so long as it's good and solid, and let me hear what you have to say about it. What you favor us with will not be repeated beyond this room, but merely regarded by my son and myself as proving that we are getting no dunder-headed dandy for our Eleanor, but an article of real substantial value--the kind of thing they might make into a Lord-lieutenant or a Viceroy in a bad year."
Tempting in every way as this suggestion sounded, his lordship nevertheless appeared to find a little initial difficulty in choosing a topic.
"Speak out, sir," said Mr. Maddison in an encouraging tone. "Our standard for noblemen isn't anything remarkably high. With a duke I'd be content with just a few dates and something about model cottages, and, though a baron ought to know a little more than that, still we'll count these feudal bagpipers and that ancestral hop-scotch performance as a kind of set-off to your credit. Suppose you just say a few words on the future of the Anglo-Saxon race. What you've learned from the papers will do, so long as you seem to understand it."
Perceiving that his Teutonic friend looked a trifle dismayed at this selection, Count Bunker suggested the Triple Alliance as an alternative.
"That needs more facts, I guess," said the millionaire;
"but it will be all the more creditable if you can manage it."
The Baron cleared his throat to begin, and as he happened (as the Count was well aware) to have the greatest enthusiasm for this policy, and to have recently read the thirteen volumes of Professor Bungstrumpher on the subject, he delivered a peroration so remarkable alike for its fervor, its facts, and its phenomenal length, that when, upon a gentle hint from the Count, he at last paused, all traces of objection had vanished from the minds of Darius P. Maddison, senior and junior.
"I need no longer detain you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said the millionaire respectfully. "Ri, fetch your sister into her room. Your lordship, I have received an intellectual treat. I am very deeply gratified, sir. Allow me to conduct you to my daughter's boudoir."
Flushed with his exertions and his triumph though the Baron was, he yet remembered so vividly the ordeal preceding the oration that as they went he whispered in his friend's ear "Ah, Bonker, stay mit me, I pray you! If she should ask more questions!
"Mr. Maddison, ze Count will stay mit me."
Though a little surprised at this arrangement, which scarcely accorded with his lordship's virile appearance and dashing air, Mr. Maddison was by this time too favorably disposed to question the wisdom of any suggestion he might make, and accordingly the two friends found themselves closeted together in Miss Maddison's sanctum awaiting the appearance of the heiress.
"Shall I remain through the entire interview?" asked the Count.
"Oh yes, mine Bonker, you most! Or--vell, soppose it gets unnecessary zen vill I cry 'By ze Gad!' and you vill know to go."
" 'By the Gad'? I see."
"Or--vell, not ze first time, but if I say it tree times, zen vill you make an excuse."
"Three times? I understand, Baron."
