After the Baron de B., and the Spanish Minister had seen that we were likely to encounter no difficulties under the protection of Joe, they left us, expressing much regret they could not remain with us, being obliged to dine at the Palace. When they had gone, "Dis way, gentlemen, dis way," Joe breathed softly, and marshalled us his own peculiar way. Joe soon put the whole hotel in an uproar by his magnificent description of our personal rank and appearance; and in about ten minutes every lacquey and scullery maid in the establishment knew that we were the identical Englishmen who had come to Copenhagen in a yacht.
Joe had ascertained, somehow or other, there was a nobleman among us; but his sagacity failed on this occasion, and he could not make out which was the substantive Briton. Joe, however, was not to be done, and so, after awhile, he addressed us all, as "my Lard;" and, though quite out of his province, he would stand at the door of the room where we dined, and see that the waiters attended properly, and were sufficiently agile in their movements. Joe, moreover, acted as interpreter.
"Waiter, some bread?"
"Es, my Lard," Joe would reply to me, and transfer the command in Danish to the waiter.
"Hock, waiter;—bring some hock."
"Suttinlee, my Lard," said Joe to P.; then coming up to the table, and, leaning confidentially over it, observed.
"Me would recumdate, my Lard, de Bunseppalouse, it bery good wine, cumsiddumrately dan de hock."
"How do you know; have you tasted it?" said R.
"No, my Lard; me only go by de smell—him bery rifferous, bery, my Lard;" and Joe sniffed till the steam from the vegetables rushed up his nostrils.
"I say," R called out to Joe, as he was disappearing over the threshold in search of the Bunseppalouse, "you black pudding, you; what do you mean by my Lard? can't you pronounce your O's? what do you with your A's, when you meet them?"