“What a shocking-looking fellow!” he exclaimed, and went up to examine it more closely.
Then, with a stupefying shock, he read this legend beneath it:
“Count Bunker. Philosopher, teacher, and martyr.”
For a minute he stared in rapt amazement, and then sharply rang the bell.
“Hang it,” he said to himself, “I must throw a little light on this somehow!”
Presently the elderly man-servant appeared, this time in a state of still more obvious confusion. For a moment he stared at the Count—who was too discomposed by his manner to open his lips—and then, once more stretching out his hand, exclaimed in a choked voice and a strong Scotch accent—
“How are ye, Bunker!”
“What the deuce!” shouted the Count, evading the proffered hand-shake with an agile leap.
The poor fellow turned scarlet, and in an humble voice blurted out—
“She told me to do it! Miss Julia said ye'd like me to shake hands and just ca' ye plain Bunker. I beg your pardon, sir; oh, I beg your pardon humbly!”