“Oh, he’s all right!” said Diavolo, with a confidence he did not really feel. “He’ll turn up all right, and even if he’s two hours late he’ll be here on time according to his own watch. Just you wait and see.”
And they did wait and they did see. They waited for ten minutes, when the Baron drove up, smiling as ever, but apparently a little out of breath. I should not dare to say that he was really out of breath, but he certainly did seem to be so, for he panted visibly, and for two or three minutes after his arrival was quite unable to ask the Imps the usual question as to their very good health. Finally, however, the customary courtesies of the greeting were exchanged, and the decks were cleared for action.
“What kept you, Uncle Munch?” asked the Twins, as they took up their usual position on the Baron’s knees.
“What what?” replied the warrior. “Kept me? Why, am I late?”
“Two hours,” said the Twins. “Dad gave you up and went out for a walk.”
“Nonsense,” said the Baron. “I’m never that late.”
Here he looked at his watch.
“Why I do seem to be behind time. There must be something wrong with our time-pieces. I can’t be two hours late, you know.”
“Well, let’s say you are on time, then,” said the Twins. “What kept you?”
“A very funny accident on the railroad,” said the Baron lighting a cigar. “Queerest accident that ever happened to me on the railroad, too. Our engine ran away.”