"Ach, no, no, no! Let me escape. Oh, let me fly!"

"Bury your face in your hands and lean on my
shoulder," prompted the Count.

This stage direction being obeyed, the most effective
tableau conceivable was presented, and the climax was
reached when the Count, after a brief dumb-show
intended to indicate how vain were Lord Tulliwuddle's
efforts to master his emotion, spoke these words in the
most thrilling accents he could muster

"Fair ladies and brave men of Hechnahoul! Your
chief, your friend, your father requests me to express
to you the sentiments which his over-wrought emotions
prevent him from uttering himself. On his behalf
I tender to his kind and courteous friends, Mr.,
Mrs., and the fair maids Gallosh, the thanks of a long-
absent exile returned to his native land for the welcome
they have given him! To his devoted clan he not
only gives his thanks, but his promise that all rents shall
be reduced by one half--so long as he dwells among
them!" (Tumultuous applause, disturbed only by a
violent ejaculation from a large man in knickerbockers
whom Bunker justly judged to be the factor.)

"With his last breath he shall perpetually thunder:
Ahasheen--comara--mohr!"