vig, mine boy,
Vrom ze sound of ze kiss,
He is not my miss,
He is only mine laty vrient!"

"I am afraid," said Mr Bunker, as they finished the chorus, "that I can't
remember any more. Now, General, it's your turn."

"Sir," replied that gallant officer, who had listened to this ditty in
purple and petrified astonishment, "I don't know who the devil you are,
but I can tell you, you won't remain a member of this club much longer if
you come into it again in this state."

"I had forgotten," said Mr Bunker, with even more than his usual
politeness, "that such an admirable music-hall critic was listening to me.
I must apologise for my poor effort."

Wishing him courteously good-night, he took the Baron by the arm and
walked out. While that somewhat perplexed nobleman was struggling into his
coat, his friend rapidly and dexterously converted all the silk hats he
could see into the condition of collapsed opera hats, and then picked a
small hand-bag off the floor. The Baron walked out through the door first,
but Mr Bunker stopped for an instant opposite the hall-porter's box, and
crying, "Good night to you, sir!" hurled the bag through the glass, rushed
after his friend, and in less time than it takes to tell they were tearing
up Pall Mall in a hansom.

For a few minutes both were silent; then the Baron said slowly, "I do not
qvite onderstand."

"My dear Baron," his friend explained gaily, "these practical jokes are
very common in our clubs. They are quite part of our national life, you
know, and I thought you ought to see everything."

The Baron said nothing, but he began to realise that he was indeed in a
foreign country.

CHAPTER III.

"Vell, Bonker, vat show to-day?" said the Baron.

Mr Bunker sipped his coffee and smiled back at his friend.

"What would you like?" said he.

They were sitting in the Baron's private room finishing one of the
renowned Hotel Mayonaise breakfasts. Out of the windows they could see the
bright curving river, the bare tops of the Embankment trees, a file of
barges drifting with the tide, and cold-looking clouds hurrying over the
chaos of brick on the opposite shore. It was a bright breezy morning, and
the Baron felt in high good-humour with his surroundings. On maturer
consideration, the entertaining experience of the night before had greatly
raised Mr Bunker in his estimation. He had chuckled his way through a
substantial b