“Ye—es,” stammered Twiddel, “certainly, sir.”
“You may now retire—and the faster the better.”
As the crestfallen doctor followed his ally out of the restaurant, the Baron exclaimed in disgust, “Ze cads! You are too merciful. You should punish.”
“My dear Baron, after all I am obliged to these rascals for the most amusing time I have ever had in my life, and one of the best friends I’ve ever made.”
“Ach, Bonker! Bot vat do I say? You are not Bonker no more, and yet may I call you so, jost for ze sake of pleasant times? It vill be too hard to change.”
“I’d rather you would, Baron. It will be a perpetual in memoriam record of my departed virtues.”
“Departed, Bonker?”
“Departed, Baron,” his friend repeated with a sigh; “for how can I ever hope to have so spacious a field for them again? Believe me, they will wither in an atmosphere of orthodoxy. And now let us order dinner.”
“But first,” said the Baron, blushing, “I haf a piece of news.”
“Baron, I guess it!”