CHAPTER III.
"Vell, Bonker, vat show to-day?" said the Baron.
Mr Bunker sipped his coffee and smiled back at his friend.
"What would you like?" said he.
They were sitting in the Baron's private room finishing one of therenowned Hotel Mayonaise breakfasts. Out of the windows they could see thebright curving river, the bare tops of the Embankment trees, a file ofbarges drifting with the tide, and cold-looking clouds hurrying over thechaos of brick on the opposite shore. It was a bright breezy morning, andthe Baron felt in high good-humour with his surroundings. On maturerconsideration, the entertaining experience of the night before had greatlyraised Mr Bunker in his estimation. He had chuckled his way through asubstantial breakfast, and in such good company felt ready for anyadventure that might turn up.
He lit a cigar, pushed back his chair, and replied blandly, "I am in yourhands. I am ready to enjoy anyzing."
"Do you wish instruction or entertainment?"
"Mix zem, Bonker. Entertain by instrogtion; instrogt by entertaining."
"You are epigrammatic, Baron, but devilish vague. I presume, however, thatyou wish entertaining experience from which a man of your philosophicaltemperament can draw a moral--afterwards."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the Baron. "Excellent! You provide ze experiences--I drawze moral."
"And we share the entertainment. The theory is perfect, but I'm afraid weneed a programme. Now, on my own first visit to London I remember beingtaken--by the hand--to Madame Tussaud's Waxworks, the Tower, St Paul'sCathedral, the fishmarket at Billingsgate, the British Museum, and anumber of other damnably edifying spectacles. You might naturally supposethat after such a round it would be quite superfluous for me ever to comeup to town again. Yet, surprising as it may appear, most of the knowledgeof London I hope to put at your disposal has been gained in the course ofsubsequent visits."
"Bot zese places--Tousaud, Tower, Paul's--are zey not instrogtif?"
"If you wish to learn that a great number of years ago a vast quantity ofinconsequent events occurred, or that in an otherwise amusing enough worldthere are here and there collected so many roomfuls of cheerless articles,I can strongly recommend a visit to the Tower of London or the BritishMuseum."
"In mine own gontry," said the Baron, thoughtfully, "I can lairn zo moch."
"Then, my dear Baron, while you are here forget it all."
"And yet," said the Baron, still thoughtfully, "somzing I should lairnhere."
"Certainly; you will learn something of what goes on underneath awaistcoat and a little of the contents of a corset and petticoat. Also ofthe strange customs of this city and the excellence of Britishinstitutions."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Baron, who thought that if his friend had notactually made a jest, it was at least time for one to occur. "I see, Isee. I draw ze moral, ha, ha!"
"This morning," Mr Bunker continued, reflectively, "we might--let mesee--well, we might do a little shopping. To tell you the truth, Baron, mySouth African experiences have somewhat exhausted my wardrobe."
"Ach, zo. Cairtainly ve vill shop. Bot, Bonker, Soud Africa? Vas it notSoud America?"
"Did I say Africa? America of course I meant. Well, let us shop if youhave no objections: then we might have a little lunch, and afterwardsvisit the Park. For the evening, what do you say to a theatre?"
"Goot!" cried the Baron. "Make it tzos."
Mr Bunker's shopping turned out to be a pretty extensive operation.
"Loan vat you please of money," said his friend. "A gentleman should bedressed in agreement."
With now and then an apology for his extravagance, he took full advantageof the Baron's generosity, and ordered such an assortment of garments thathis tailor could hardly bow low enough to express his gratification.
After an excellent lunch in the most expensive restaurant to be found,they walked arm-in-arm westwards along Piccadilly, Mr Bunker pointing outthe various objects of historical or ephemeral interest to be seen in thatthoroughfare, the Baron drinking in this information with the serious airof the distinguished traveller.
"And now we come to the Park," said Mr Bunker. "Guard your heart, Baron."
"Ha, ha, ha!" replied the Baron. "Zo instrogtion is feenished, and nowgoms entertainment, ha?"
"With the moral always running through it, remember."
"I shall not forget."
The sunshine had brought out a great many carriages and a sprinkling ofwalkers along the railings. The two friends strolled among them, eyeingthe women and stopping now and then to look back at a carriage.
"I suppose," said the Baron, "zat vile you haf been avay your frients haveforgot you."
As he spoke a young man looked hard at Mr Bunker, and even made a movementas though he would stop and speak to him. Mr Bunker looked blandly throughhim and walked on.
"Do you not know zat gentleman?"
"Which gentleman?"
"Ze young man zat looked so at you."
"Some young men have a way of staring here, Baron."
A few minutes later a lady in a passing carriage looked round sharply atthem with an air of great surprise, and half bowed.
"Surely," exclaimed the Baron, "zat vas a frient of yours!"
"I am not a friend of hers, then," Mr Bunker replied with a laugh. "Herbow I think must have been aimed at you."
The Baron shook his head, and seemed to be drawing a moral.
"Baron," his friend exclaimed, suddenly, "let us go back; here comes oneof our most popular phenomena, a London fog. We need not stay in the Parkto observe it."
The sun was already obscured; there stole a most insidious chill throughthe air; like the changing of a scene on the stage they found themselvesin a few minutes walking in a little ring of trees and road and ironrailings instead of a wide sunny park; the roar of the streets came frombehind a wall of mist that opened mysteriously to let a phantom carriagein and out, and closed silently behind it again.
"I like not zis," said the Baron, with a shiver.
By the time they had found Piccadilly again there was nothing at all to beseen but the light of the nearest lamp, as large and far away as astruggling sun, and the shadowy people who flitted by.
Their talk ceased. The Baron turned up his collar and sucked his cigarlugubriously, and Mr Bunker seemed unusually thoughtful. They had walkednearly as far as Piccadilly Circus when they were pulled up by a cabturning down a side-street. There was a lamp-post at the corner, and underit stood a burly man, his red face quite visible as they came up to hisshoulder.
In an instant Mr Bunker seized the Baron by the arm, pulled him round, andbegan to walk hastily back again.
"Vat for zis?" said the Baron, in great astonishment.
"We have come too far, thanks to this infernal fog. We must cross thestreet and take the first turning on the other side. I must apologise,Baron, for my absence of mind."
* * * * *
The cab passed by and the red-faced man strolled on.
"Like lookin' for a needle in a bloomin' haystack," he said to himself. "Imight as well go back to Clankwood. 'E's a good riddance, I say."
The Lunatic at Large Page 11