‘Idiot, indeed!’ cried my Lady. ‘He’s no more an idiot than I am!’
‘You’re right, my dear,’ the Vice-Warden soothingly replied. ‘He isn’t, indeed!’
My Lady was appeased. ‘Let’s go in and receive the Ambassador,’ she said, and beckoned to the Professor. ‘Which room is he waiting in?’ she inquired.
‘In the Library, Madam.’
‘And what did you say his name was?’ said the Vice-Warden.
The Professor referred to a card he held in his hand. ‘His Adiposity the Baron Doppelgeist.’
‘Why does he come with such a funny name?’ said my Lady.
‘He couldn’t well change it on the journey,’ the Professor meekly replied, ‘because of the luggage.’
‘You go and receive him,’ my Lady said to the Vice-Warden, ‘and I’ll attend to the children.’
Chapter 7
The Baron’s Embassy
I was following the Vice-Warden, but, on second thoughts, went after my Lady, being curious to see how she would manage to keep the children out of sight.
I found her holding Sylvie’s hand, and with her other hand stroking Bruno’s hair in a most tender and motherly fashion: both children were looking bewildered and half-frightened.
‘My own darlings,’ she was saying, ‘I’ve been planning a little treat for you! The Professor shall take you a long walk into the woods this beautiful evening: and you shall take a basket of food with you, and have a little picnic down by the river!’
Bruno jumped, and clapped his hands. ‘That are nice!’ he cried. ‘Aren’t it, Sylvie?’
Sylvie, who hadn’t quite lost her surprised look, put up her mouth for a kiss. ‘Thank you very much,’ she said earnestly.
My Lady turned her head away to conceal the broad grin of triumph that spread over her vast face, like a ripple on a lake. ‘Little simpletons!’ she muttered to herself, as she marched up to the house. I followed her in.
‘Quite so, your Excellency,’ the Baron was saying as we entered the Library. ‘All the infantry were under my command.’ He turned, and was duly presented to my Lady.
‘A military hero?’ said my Lady. The fat little man simpered. ‘Well, yes,’ he replied, modestly casting down his eyes. ‘My ancestors were all famous for military genius.’
My Lady smiled graciously. ‘It often runs in families,’ she remarked: ‘just as a love for pastry does.’ [•]
The Baron looked slightly offended, and the Vice-Warden discreetly changed the subject. ‘Dinner will soon be ready,’ he said. ‘May I have the honour of conducting your Adiposity to the guest-chamber?’
‘Certainly, certainly!’ the Baron eagerly assented. ‘It would never do to keep dinner waiting!’ And he almost trotted out of the room after the Vice-Warden.
He was back again so speedily that the Vice-Warden had barely time to explain to my Lady that her remark about ‘a love for pastry’ was ‘unfortunate. You might have seen, with half an eye,’ he added, ‘that that’s his line. Military genius, indeed! Pooh!’
‘Dinner ready yet?’ the Baron enquired, as he hurried into the room.
‘Will be in a few minutes,’ the Vice-Warden replied. ‘Meanwhile, let’s take a turn in the garden. You were telling me,’ he continued, as the trio left the house, ‘something about a great battle in which you had the command of the infantry—’
‘True,’ said the Baron. ‘The enemy, as I was saying, far outnumbered us: but I marched my men right into the middle of—what’s that?’ the Military Hero exclaimed in agitated tones, drawing back behind the Vice-Warden, as a strange creature rushed wildly upon them, brandishing a spade.
‘It’s only the Gardener!’ the Vice-Warden replied in an encouraging tone. ‘Quite harmless, I assure you. Hark, he’s singing! Its his favorite amusement.’
And once more those shrill discordant tones rang out:
‘He thought he saw a Banker’s Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus:
“If this should stay to dine,” he said,
“There wo’n’t be much for us!”’ [•]
Throwing away the spade, he broke into a frantic jig, snapping his fingers, and repeating, again and again,
‘There wo’n’t be much for us!
There wo’n’t be much for us!’
Once more the Baron looked slightly offended, but the Vice-Warden hastily explained that the song had no allusion to him, and in fact had no meaning at all. ‘You didn’t mean anything by it, now did you?’ He appealed to the Gardener, who had finished his song, and stood, balancing himself on one leg, and looking at them, with his mouth open.
‘I never means nothing,’ said the Gardener: and Uggug luckily came up at the moment, and gave the conversation a new turn.
‘Allow me to present my son,’ said the Vice-Warden; adding, in a whisper, ‘one of the best and cleverest boys that ever lived! I’ll contrive for you to see some of his cleverness. He knows everything that other boys don’t know; and in archery, in fishing, in painting, and in music, his skill is—but you shall judge for yourself. You see that target over there? He shall shoot an arrow at it. Dear boy,’ he went on aloud, ‘his Adiposity would like to see you shoot. Bring his Highness’ bow and arrows!’
Uggug looked very sulky as he received the bow and arrow, and prepared to shoot. Just as the arrow left the bow, the Vice-Warden trod heavily on the toe of the Baron, who yelled with the pain.
‘Ten thousand pardons!’ he exclaimed. ‘I stepped back in my excitement. See! It is a bull’s-eye!’
The Baron gazed in astonishment. ‘He held the bow so awkwardly, it seemed impossible!’ he muttered. But there was no room for doubt: there was the arrow, right in the centre of the bull’s-eye!
‘The lake is close by,’ continued the Vice-Warden. ‘Bring his Highness’ fishing-rod!’ And Uggug most unwillingly held the rod, and dangled the fly over the water.
‘A beetle on your arm!’ cried my Lady, pinching the poor Baron’s arm worse than if ten lobsters had seized it at once. ‘That kind is poisonous,’ she explained. ‘But what a pity! You missed seeing the fish pulled out!’
An enormous dead cod-fish was lying on the bank, with the hook in its mouth.
‘I had always fancied,’ the Baron faltered, ‘that cod were salt-water fish?’
‘Not in this country,’ said the Vice-Warden. ‘Shall we go in? Ask my son some question on the way—any subject you like!’ And the sulky boy was violently shoved forwards, to walk at the Baron’s side.
‘Could your