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.
