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.”

CHAPTER XXII