“Simply by wading my way through all the lists of names I could steal or borrow. It’s devilish dry work.”
“Ze name of a vriend, is it?”
“Yes; but I’m afraid I must wait till it comes. And what is this discovery, Baron? A petticoat, I presume. After all, they are the only things worth finding,” and he shut the books one after another.
“A petticoat with ze fairest girl inside it!” exclaimed the Baron, rapturously.
“Your eyes seem to have been singularly penetrating, Baron. Was she dark or fair, tall or short, fat or slender, widow, wife, or maid?”
“Fair, viz blue eyes, short pairhaps but not too short, slender as a—a—drom-stick, and I vould say a maid; at least I see vun stout old lady mit her, mozzer and daughter I soppose.”
“And did this piece of perfection seem to appreciate you?”
“Vy should I know? Zey are ze real ladies and pairtend [pg 128] not to see me, bot I zink zey notice me all ze same. Not ‘lady vriends,’ Bonker, ha, ha, ha!”
Mr Bunker laughed with reminiscent amusement, and inquired, “And how did the romance end—in a cab, Baron?”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the Baron; “better zan zat, Bonker—moch better!”