The Baron's face assumed a piteous expression.
“Bonker,” he stammered, “I—I am afraid! You be ze Tollyvoddle—I cannot do him!”
“My dear Baron!”
“Oh, I cannot!”
“Be brave—for the honor of the fatherland. Play the bold Blitzenberg!”
“Ach, ja; but not bold Tollyvoddle. Zat picture—you vere right—it vas omen!”
Never did the genius of Bunker rise more audaciously to an occasion.
“My dear Baron,” said he, assuming on the instant a confidence-inspiring smile, “that print was a hoax; it wasn't old Tulliwuddle at all. I faked it myself.”
“So?” gasped the Baron. “You assure me truly?”
Muttering (the historian sincerely hopes) a petition for forgiveness, Bunker firmly answered—