The Lunatic at Large Part 13

"I haf no friends here. My introdogtions zey are gone. Bot I haf moch money, and I vish a, vat you say?-showman, ha, ha, ha! You haf too leetle money and no friends and you can show. You show and I will loan you vat you vish. May I dare to suggest?"

"My dear Baron!"

"My goot Bonker! I am in airnest, I a.s.sure. Vy not? It is vun gentleman and anozzer."

"You are far too kind."

"It is to myself I am kind, zen. I vant a guide, a frient. It is a loan.

Do not scruple. Ven your fader goms you can pay if you please. It is nozing to me."

"Well, my dear Baron," said Mr Bunker, like a man persuaded against his will, "what can I say? I confess I might find a little difficulty in replenishing my purse without resorting to disagreeable means, and if you really wish my society, why--"

"Zen it is a bairgain?" cried the Baron.

"If you insist--"

"I insist. Vaiter! Alzo two ozzer liqueur. Ve most drink to ze bairgain, Bonker."

They pledged each other cordially, and talked from that moment like old friends. The Baron was thoroughly pleased with himself, and Mr Bunker seemed no less gratified at his own good fortune. Half an hour went quickly by, and then the Baron exclaimed, "Let us do zomzing to-night, Bonker. I burn for to begin zis show of London."

"What would you care to do, Baron? It is rather late, I am afraid, to think of a theatre. What do you say to a music-hall?"

"Music-hall? I haf seen zem at home. d.a.m.ned amusing, das ist ze expression, yes?"

"It is a perfect description."

"Bot," continued the Baron, solemnly, "I must not begin vid ze vickedest."

"And yet," replied his friend, persuasively, "even wickedness needs a beginning."

"Bot, if I begin I may not stop. Zomzing more qviet ze first night. Haf you a club?"

Mr Bunker pondered for a moment, and a curious smile stole across his face. Then it vanished, and he answered readily, "Certainly, Baron, an excellent idea. I haven't been to my club for so long that it never struck me. Let us come."

"Goot!" cried the Baron, rising with alacrity.

They put on their coats (Mr Bunker's, it may be remarked, being a handsome fur-lined garment), the porter hailed a cab, and the driver was ordered to take them to the Regent's Club in Pall Mall. The Baron knew it by reputation as the most exclusive in London, and his opinion of his friend rose still higher.

They joined a jingling string of other hansoms and sped swiftly through the exhilarating bustle of the streets. To the Baron it seemed as if a great change had come over the city since he wandered disconsolately before dinner. Carried swiftly to the music of the little bells through the sharp air and the London night that is brighter than day, with a friend by his side and a good dinner within, he marked the most astonishing difference. All the people seemed to talk and laugh, and for his own part he found it hard to keep his tongue still.

"I know ze name of ze Regent's," he said; "vun club of ze best, is it not?"

"The very best club, Baron."

"Zey are all n.o.ble?"

"In many cases the receipts for their escutcheons are still in their pockets."

Though the precise significance of this explanation was not quite clear to the Baron, it sounded eminently satisfactory.

"Zo?" he said. "I shall be moch interested to see zem."

As they entered the club the porter stared at them curiously, and even made a movement as though he would step out and address them; but Mr Bunker, wishing him a courteous good evening, walked briskly up to the hat-and-cloak racks in the hall. A young man had just hung up his hat, and as he was divesting himself of his coat, Mr Bunker quickly took the hat down, glanced at the name inside, and replaced it on its peg. Then he held out his hand and addressed the young man cordially.

"Good evening, Transome, how are you?" said he, and, heedless of the look of surprise on the other's face, he turned towards the Baron and added, "Let me introduce the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg-Mr Transome. The Baron has just come to England, and I thought he couldn't begin better than by a visit to the Regent's. Let us come into the smoking-room."

In a few minutes they were all on the best of terms. A certain perplexity, and almost shyness, that the young man showed at first, vanished rapidly before the Baron's cordiality and Mr Bunker's well-bred charm of manner.

They were deeply engrossed in a discussion on the reigning sovereign of the Baron's native land, a monarch of whose enlightened policy that n.o.bleman spoke with pardonable pride, when two elderly gentlemen entered the room.

"Who are these?" Mr Bunker whispered to Transome. "I know them very well, but I am always bad at names."

"Lord Fabrigas and General M'Dermott," replied Transome.

Instantly Mr Bunker rose and greeted the new-comers.

"Good evening, Lord Fabrigas; good evening, General. You have just come in time to be introduced to the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, whom you doubtless know by reputation."

The Baron rose and bowed, and it struck him that elderly English gentlemen were singularly stiff and constrained in their manner. Mr Bunker, however, continued cheerfully, "We are just going to have a smoking concert. Will you begin, Baron?"

"I know not English songs," replied the Baron, "bot I should like moch to hear."

"You must join in the chorus, then."

"Certainly, Bonker. I haf a voice zat is considered-vat you call-deafening, yes?-in ze chorus."

Mr Bunker cleared his throat, and, just as the General was on the point of interposing a remark, struck up hastily; and for the first time in its long and honourable history the smoking-room of the Regent's Club reechoed to a popular music-hall ditty.

"They sometimes call 'em duckies, they sometimes call 'em pets, And sometimes they refer to 'em as dears They live on little matters that a gentleman forgets, In a little world of giggles and of tears; There are different varieties from which a man may choose, There are sorts and shapes and sizes without end, But the kind I'd pick myself is the kind you introduce By the simple t.i.tle of 'my lady friend.' "

"Chorus, Baron!" And then he trolled in waltz time this edifying refrain-

"My lady friend, my lady friend!

Can't you twig, dear boys, From the sound of the kisses She isn't my misses, She's only my lady friend!"

In a voice like a train going over a bridge the Baron chimed in-

"My laty vrient, my laty vrient!

Cannot you tvig, mine boy, Vrom ze sound of ze kiss, He is not my miss, He is only mine laty vrient!"

"I am afraid," said Mr Bunker, as they finished the chorus, "that I can't remember any more. Now, General, it's your turn."