The Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, as I have said, had a warm heart. He was, besides, alone in one hundred and twenty square miles of strangers and foreigners when he had happened upon this congenial spirit. He began in a tone of the most ingenuous friendliness— “I haf no friends here. My introdogtions zey are gone. Bot I haf moch money, and I vish a, vat you say?—showman, ha, ha, ha! You haf too leetle money and no friends and you can show. You show and I will loan you vat you vish. May I dare to suggest?” “My dear Baron!” “My goot Bonker! I am in airnest, I assure. Vy not? It is vun gentleman and anozzer.” “You are far too kind.” “It is to myself I am kind, zen. I vant a guide, a frient. It is a loan. Do not scruple. Ven your fader goms you can pay if you please. It is nozing to me.” “Well, my dear Baron,” said Mr Bunker, like a man persuaded against his will, “what can I say? I confess I might find a little difficulty in replenishing my purse without resorting to disagreeable means, and if you really wish my society, why——” “Zen it is a bairgain?” cried the Baron. “If you insist——” “I insist. Vaiter! Alzo two ozzer liqueur. Ve most drink to ze bairgain, Bonker.” They pledged each other cordially, and talked from that moment like old friends. The Baron was thoroughly pleased with himself, and Mr Bunker seemed no less gratified at his own good fortune. Half an hour went quickly by, and then the Baron exclaimed, “Let us do zomzing to-night, Bonker. I burn for to begin zis show of London.” “What would you care to do, Baron? It is rather late, I am afraid, to think of a theatre. What do you say to a music-hall?” “Music-hall? I haf seen zem at home. Damned amusing, das ist ze expression, yes?” “It is a perfect description.” “Bot,” continued the Baron, solemnly, “I must not begin vid ze vickedest.” “And yet,” replied his friend, persuasively, “even wickedness needs a beginning.” “Bot, if I begin I may not stop. Zomzing more qviet ze first night. Haf you a club?” Mr Bunker pondered for a moment, and a curious smile stole across his face. Then it vanished, and he answered readily, “Certainly, Baron, an excellent idea. I haven’t been to my club for so long that it never struck me. Let us come.” “Goot!” cried the Baron, rising with alacrity. They put on their coats (Mr Bunker’s, it may be remarked, being a handsome fur-lined garment), the porter hailed a cab, and the driver was ordered to take them to the Regent’s Club in Pall Mall. The Baron knew it by reputation as the most exclusive in London, and his opinion of his friend rose still higher.