“My own conception of enough learning, Baron, is a thing like a threepenny-bit—the smallest coin one can do one’s marketing with.” “And yet,” said the Baron, solemnly, “for my own share, I am not satisfied. I vould lairn more of ze British institutions; so far I haf lairned of ze pleasures only.” “My dear Baron, they are the British institutions.” The Baron shook his head and fell to his paper again, while Mr Bunker stretched himself on the sofa and gazed through his cigar-smoke at the ceiling. Suddenly the Baron gave an exclamation of horror. “My dear Baron, what is the matter?” “Yet anozer outrage!” cried the Baron. “Zese anarchists, zey are too scandalous. At all ze stations zere are detectives, and all ze ships are being vatched. Ach, it is terrible!” Mr Bunker seemed struck with an idea, for he stared at the ceiling without making any reply, and his eyes, had the Baron seen them, twinkled curiously. At last the Baron laid down his paper. “Vell, vat shall ve do?” he asked. “Let us come first to Liverpool Street Station, if you don’t mind, Baron,” his friend suggested. “I have something in the cloak-room there I want to pick up.” “My dear Bonker, I shall go vere you vill; bot remember I vant to-day more instrogtion and less entertainment.” “You wish to see the practical side of English life?” “Yah—zat is, yes.” Mr Bunker smiled. “Then I must entertain myself.” As they drove down he was in his wittiest humour, and the Baron, in spite of his desire for instruction, was more charmed with his friend than ever. “Vat fonny zing vill you do next, eh?” he asked, as they walked arm-in-arm into the station. “I am no more the humourist, my dear Baron,—I shall endeavour to edify you.” They had arrived at a busy hour, when the platforms were crowded with passengers and luggage. A train had just come in, and around it the bustle was at its height, and the confusion most bewildering. “Wait for me here,” said Mr Bunker; “I shall be back in a minute.” He started in the direction of the cloak-room, and then, doubling back through the crowd, walked down the platform and stopped opposite a luggage-van. An old gentleman, beside himself with irritation, was struggling with the aid of a porter to collect his luggage, and presently he left the pile he had got together and made a rush in the direction of a large portmanteau that was just being tumbled out. Instantly Mr Bunker picked up a handbag from the heap and walked quickly off with it. “Here you are, Baron,” he said, as he came up to his friend. “I find there is something else I must do, so do you mind holding this bag for a few minutes? If you will walk up and down in front of the refreshment-rooms here, I’ll find you more easily. Is it troubling you too much?” “Not vun bit, Bonker. I am in your sairvice.” He put the bag into the Baron’s hand with his pleasantest smile, and turned away. Rounding a corner, he came cautiously back again through the crowd and stepped up to a policeman.