Ach, no, it most not be so soon. I most practise a leetle first. Not so immediately, Bonker."
Bunker looked at him with a glance of unfathomable calm.
"I find that it will be necessary for you to observe one or two ancient ceremonies, associated from time immemorial with the accession of a Tulliwuddle. You are prepared for the ordeal?"
"I most do my duty, Bonker."
"This suggests some more inspiring vision than the gentleman in the gold frame," thought the Count acutely.
Aloud he remarked "You have high ideals, Baron."
"I hope so."
Again the Baron was the unconscious object of a humorous, perspicacious scrutiny.
"Last night I did hear zat moch was to be expected from me," he observed at length.
"From Mrs. Gallosh?"
"I do not zink it vas from Mrs. Gallosh."
Count Bunker smiled.
"You inflamed all hearts last night," said he.
The Baron looked grave.
"I did drink too moch last night. But I did not say vat I should not, eh? I vas not rude or gross to--Mistair Gallosh?"
"Not to Mr. Gallosh."
The Baron looked a trifle perturbed at the gravity of his tone.
"I vas not too free, too undignified in presence of zat innocent and charming lady--Miss Gallosh?"
The air of scrutiny passed from Count Bunker's face, and a droll smile came instead.
"Baron, I understand your ideals and I appreciate your motives. As you suggest, you had better rehearse your part quietly for a few days. Miss Maddison will find you the more perfect suitor."
The Baron looked as though he knew not whether to feel satisfied or not.
"By the way," said the Count in a moment, "have you written to the Baroness yet? Pardon me for reminding you, but you must remember that your letters will have to go out to Russia and back."
The Baron started.
"Teufel!" he exclaimed. "I most indeed write."
"The post goes at twelve."
The Baron reflected gloomily, and then slowly moved to the writing-table and toyed with his pen. A few minutes passed, and then in a fretful voice he asked--"Vat shall I say?"
"Tell her about your journey across Europe--how the crops look in Russia--what you think of St. Petersburg--that sort of thing."
A silent quarter of an hour went by, and then the Baron burst out "Ach, I cannot write to-day! I cannot invent like you. Ze crops--I have got zat--and zat I arrived safe --and zat Petersburg is nice. Vat else?"
"Anything you can remember from text-books on Muscovy or illustrated interviews with the Czar. Just a word or two, don't you know, to show you've been there; with a few comments of your own."
"Vat like comments?"
"Such as--'Somewhat annoyed with bombs this afternoon,' or 'This caused me to reflect upon the disadvantages of an alcoholic marine'--any little bit of philosophy that occurs to you."
The Baron pondered.
"It is a pity zat I have not been in Rossia," he observed.
"On the other hand, it is a blessing your wife hasn't.
Look at the bright side of things, my dear fellow."
For a short time, from the way in which the Baron took hasty notes in pencil and elaborated them in ink (according to the system of Professor Virchausen), it appeared that he was following his friend's directions.
Later, from a sentimental look in his eye, the Count surmised that he was composing an amorous addendum; and at last he laid down his pen with a sigh which the cynical (but only the cynical) might have attributed to relief.
"Ha, my head he is getting more clear!" he announced. "Gom, let us present ourselves to ze ladies, mine Bonker!"
