“Can it be possible?” cried Eleanor eagerly, her grief for the moment forgotten.

“No,” said her father; “it is not possible.  The announcement is confirmed by the paragraph.  A mistake is inconceivable.”

The Baron thought he perceived a brilliant idea.

“Ach, it is ze ozzer Tollvoddle!” he exclaimed. 
“So! zat is it, of course.”

“You mean to say there is another peerage of Tulliwuddle?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Fetch Debrett, Ri!”

But Ri had already not only fetched Debrett, but found the place.

“A darned lie.  Thought so,” he observed succinctly.

The luckless diplomatist was now committed to perdition.

“It is not in ze books,” he exclaimed.  “It is bot a baronetcy.”

“A baronetcy!”

“And illegitimate also.”

“Sir,” burst forth Ri, “you are a thundering liar!  Is this your marriage notice?”

The Baron changed his tactics.

“Yes!” he declared.

Eleanor screamed.

“Don’t fuss, Eleanor,” said her father kindly.  “That ain’t true, anyhow.  Why, the day before yesterday he was throwing that darned hammer.”

“Which came down last night in our yard with the head burst!” added Ri contemptuously.  “Found you out there too!”

“Is that so!” exclaimed his father.

“That is so, sir!”

The three looked at him, and it was hard to say whether indignation or contempt was more prominent in their faces.  This was more than he could endure.

“I vill not be so looked at!” he cried; “I vill leave you!”

“No you won’t!” said Ri.

And the Baron saw his retreat cut of by the athletic and determined young man.

“Before you leave, we have one or two questions to ask you,” said Mr. Maddison.  “Are you Lord Tulliwuddle, or are you not?”

“Yes!—­No!” replied the Baron.

“Which, sir?”

Expanding his chest, he made the awe-inspiring announcement—­

“I am moch greater zan Tollyvoddle!  I am ze
Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg!”

“Another darned lie!” commented Ri.

Mr. Maddison laughed sardonically; while Eleanor, with flashing eyes, now joined in the attack upon the hapless nobleman.

“You wretched creature!  Isn’t it enough to have shammed to be one peer without shamming to be another?”

“Bot I am!  Ja, I swear to you!  Can you not see zat I am noble?”

“Curiously enough we can’t,” replied Mr. Maddison.

But his daughter’s scepticism was a little shaken by the fervor of his assurances.

“But, Poppa, perhaps he may be a German peer.”

“German waiter, more likely!” sneered Ri.  “What shall we do with him?  Tar and feathers, I guess, would just about suit his complaint.”

“No, Ri, no,” said his father cautiously.  “Remember we are no longer beneath the banner of freedom.  In this benighted country it might lead into trouble.  Guess we can find him accommodation, though, in that bit of genuine antique above the harness-room.  It’s fitted with a very substantial lock.  We’ll make Dugald M’Culloch responsible for this baron till the police take him over.”