dear Bonker!” cried the Baron, crimsoning with joy. “Ach, how pleased I am!”
“Baron!” replied his visitor gaily. “You cannot deceive me—that waistcoat was made in Germany! Let me lead you to a respectable tailor!”
Yet, despite his bantering tone, it was easy to see that he took an equal pleasure in the meeting.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Baron, “vot a fonny zing to say! Droll as ever, eh?”
“Five years less droll than when we first met,” said the late Bunker and present Essington. “You meet a dullish dog, Baron—a sobered reveller.”
“Ach, no! Not surely? Do not disappoint me, dear Bonker!”
The Baron's plaintive note seemed to amuse his friend.
“You don't mean to say you actually wish a boon companion? You, Baron, the modern Talleyrand, the repository of three emperors' secrets? My dear fellow, I nearly came in deep mourning.”
“Mourning! For vat?”
“For our lamented past: I supposed you would have the air of a Nonconformist beadle.”
“My friend!” said the Baron eagerly, and yet with a lowering of his voice, “I vould not like to engage a beadle mit jost ze same feelings as me. Come here to zis corner and let us talk! Vaiter! whisky—soda—cigars—all for two. Come, Bonker!”
Stretched in arm-chairs, in a quiet corner of the room, the two surveyed one another with affectionate and humorous interest. For three years they had not seen one another at all, and save once they had not met for five. In five years a man may change his religion or lose his hair, inherit a principality or part with a reputation, grow a beard or turn teetotaler. Nothing so fundamental had happened to either of our friends. The Baron's fullness of contour we have already noticed; in Mandell-Essington, EX Bunker, was to be seen even less evidence of the march of time. But years, like wheels upon a road, can hardly pass without leaving in their wake some faint impress, however fair the weather, and perhaps his hair lay a fraction of an inch higher up the temple, and in the corners of his eyes a hint might even be discerned of those little
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