The Definite Object by Jeffery Farnol

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THE DEFINITE OBJECT

A Romance of New York

by

JEFFERY FARNOL

Author of The Broad Highway, The Amateur Gentleman, The Honourable
Mr. Tawnish, Beltane the Smith

1917

CHAPTER

I Which Describes, among Other Things, a Pair of Whiskers
II Of a Mournful Millionaire Who Lacked an Object
III How Geoffrey Ravenslee Went Seeking an Object
IV Telling How He Came to Hell's Kitchen at Peep o' Day
V How Mrs. Trapes Acquired a New Lodger, Despite her Elbows
VI How Spike Initiated Mr. Ravenslee into the Gentle Art of Shopping
VII Concerning Ankles, Stairs, and Neighbourliness
VIII Of Candies and Confidences
IX Which Recounts the End of an Episode
X Tells How Mr. Ravenslee Went into Trade
XI Antagonism is Born and War Declared
XII Containing Some Description of a Supper Party
XIII Wherein may be Found Some Particulars of the Beautiful City of
Perhaps
XIV Of a Text, a Letter, and a Song
XV Which Introduces Joe and the Old Un
XVI Of the First and Second Persons, Singular Number
XVII How Geoffrey Ravenslee Made a Deal in Real Estate
XVIII How Spike Hearkened to Poisonous Suggestion and Soapy Began to
Wonder
XIX In which the Poison Begins to Work
XX Of an Expedition by Night
XXI How M'Ginnis Threatened and--Went
XXII Tells of an Early Morning Visit and a Warning
XXIII Chiefly Concerning a Letter
XXIV How the Old Un and Certain Others had Tea
XXV How Spike Made a Choice and a Promise
XXVI Which Makes Further Mention of a Ring
XXVII Mrs. Trapes Upon the Millennium
XXVIII Which should have Related Details of a Wedding
XXIX In which Hermione Makes a Fateful Decision
XXX How Geoffrey Ravenslee Departed from Hell's Kitchen
XXXI In which Soapy Takes a Hand
XXXII Of Harmony and Discord
XXXIII Of Tragedy
XXXIV Of Remorse
XXXV How Geoffrey Ravenslee Came Out of the Dark
XXXVI Concerning a Clew
XXXVII The Woes of Mr. Brimberly
XXXVIII In which Soapy Takes upon Himself a New Role
XXXIX The Old Un Advises and Ravenslee Acts
XL Concerning a Handful of Pebbles
XLI Of a Packet of Letters
XLII Tells How Ravenslee Broke his Word and Why
XLIII How Spike Got Even
XLIV Retribution
XLV Of the Old Un and Fate
XLVI In which Geoffrey Ravenslee Obtains his Object

CHAPTER I

WHICH DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, A PAIR OF WHISKERS

In the writing of books, as all the world knows, two things are above
all other things essential--the one is to know exactly when and where to
leave off, and the other to be equally certain when and where to begin.

Now this book, naturally enough, begins with Mr. Brimberly's whiskers;
begins at that moment when he coughed and pulled down his waistcoat for
the first time. And yet (since action is as necessary to the success of
a book as to life itself) it should perhaps begin more properly at the
psychological moment when Mr. Brimberly coughed and pulled down the
garment aforesaid for the third time, since it is then that the real
action of this story commences.

Be that as it may, it is beyond all question that nowhere in this wide
world could there possibly be found just such another pair of whiskers
as those which adorned the plump cheeks of Mr. Brimberly; without them
he might have been only an ordinary man, but, possessing them, he was
the very incarnation of all that a butler could possibly be.

And what whiskers these were! So soft, so fleecy, so purely white, that
at times they almost seemed like the wings of cherubim, striving to soar
away and bear Mr. Brimberly into a higher and purer sphere. Again, what
Protean whiskers were these, whose fleecy pomposity could overawe the
most superior young footmen and reduce page-boys, tradesmen, and the
lower orders generally, to a state of perspiring humility; to his
equals how calmly aloof, how blandly dignified; and to those a misguided
fate had set above him, how demurely deferential, how obligingly
obsequious! Indeed, Mr. Brimberly's whiskers were all things to all men,
and therein lay their potency.

Mr. Brimberly then, pompous, affable, and most sedate, having motioned
his visitor into his master's favourite chair, set down the tray of
decanters and glasses upon the piano, coughed, and pulled down his
waistcoat; and Mr. Brimberly did it all with that air of portentous
dignity and leisurely solemnity which, together with his whiskers, made
him the personality he was.

"And you're still valeting for Barberton, are you, Mr. Stevens?" he
blandly enquired.

"I've been with his lordship six months, now," nodded Mr. Stevens.

"Ah!" said Mr. Brimberly, opening a certain carved cabinet and reaching
thence a box of his master's choicest Havanas, "six months, indeed! And
'ow is Barberton? I hacted in the capacity of his confidential valet a
good many years ago, as I told you, and we always got on very well
together, very well, indeed. 'ow is Barberton?"

"Oh, 'e 'd be right enough if it warn't for 'is gout which gets 'im in
the big toe now and then, and 'is duns and creditors and sich-like low
fellers, as gets 'im everywhere and constant! 'E'll never be quite
'imself until 'e marries money--and plenty of it!"

"A American hair-ess!" nodded Mr. Brimberly. "Pre-cisely! I very nearly
married 'im to a rich widder ten years ago. 'E'd 'ave been settled for
life if 'e 'd took my advice! But Barberton was always inclined to be a
little 'eadstrong. The widder in question 'appened to be a trifle
par-say, I'll admit, also it was 'inted that one of 'er--lower limbs was
cork. But then, 'er money, sir--'er jools!" Mr. Brimberly raised eyes
and hands and shook his head until his whiskers quivered in a very
ecstasy.

"But a wooden leg--" began Mr. Stevens dubiously.

"I said 'limb', sir!" said Mr. Brimberly, his whiskers distinctly
agitated, "a cork limb, sir! And Lord bless me, a cork limb ain't to
be sniffed at contemptuous when it brings haffluence with it, sir! At
least, my sentiments leans that way."

"Oh--ditto, certainly, sir! I'd take haffluence to my 'eart if she came
with both le--both of 'em cork, if it meant haffluence like this!" Mr.
Stevens let his pale, prominent eyes wander slowly around the luxuriant
splendour of the room. "My eye!" he exclaimed, "it's easy to see as your
governor don't have to bother about marrying money, cork limbs or
otherwise! Very rich, ain't 'e, Mr. Brimberly?"

Mr. Brimberly set down the decanter he chanced to be holding, and having
caressed each fluffy whisker, smiled.

"I think, sir," said he gently, "y-es, I think we may answer 'yes' to
your latter question. I think we may tell you and admit 'ole-'earted and
frank, sir, that the Ravenslee fortune is fab'lous, sir, stoopendious
and himmense!"

"Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Mr. Stevens, and his pale eyes, much wider, now
wandered up from the Persian rug beneath his boots to the elaborately
carved ceiling above his head. "My aunt!" he murmured.

"Oh, I think we're fairly comfortable 'ere, sir," nodded Mr. Brimberly
complacently, "yes, fairly comfortable, I think."

"Comfortable!" ejaculated the awe-struck Mr. Stevens, "I should say so!
My word!"

"Yes," pursued Mr. Brimberly, "comfortable, and I ventur' to think,
tasteful, sir, for I'll admit young Ravenslee--though a millionaire and
young--'as taste. Observe this costly bricky-brack! Oh, yes, young Har
is a man of taste indoobitably, I think you must admit."

"Very much so indeed, sir!" answered Mr. Stevens with his pallid glance
on the array of bottles. "'Three Star,' I think, Mr. Brimberly?"

"Sir," sighed Mr. Brimberly in gentle reproach, "you 'ere be'old Cognac
brandy as couldn't be acquired for twenty-five dollars the bottle! Then
'ere we 'ave jubilee port, a rare old sherry, and whisky. Now what shall
we make it? You, being like myself, a Englishman in this 'ere land of
eagles, spread and otherwise, suppose we make it a B and a Hess?"

"By all means!" nodded Mr. Stevens.

"I was meditating," said Mr. Brimberly, busied with the bottles and
glasses, "I was cogitating calling hup Mr. Jenkins, the Stanways' butler
across the way. The Stanways is common people, parvynoo, Mr. Stevens,
parvynoo, but Mr. Jenkins is very superior and plays the banjer very
affecting. Our 'ousekeeper and the maids is gone to bed, and I've give
our footmen leave of habsence--I thought we might 'ave a nice, quiet
musical hour or so. You perform on the piano-forty, I believe, sir?"

"Only very occasional!" Mr. Stevens admitted. "But," and here his pale
eyes glanced toward the door, "do I understand as he is out for the
night?"

"Sir," said Mr. Brimberly ponderously, "what ''e' might you be pleased
to mean?"

"I was merely allooding to--to your governor, sir."

Mr. Brimberly glanced at his guest, set down the glass he was in the act
of filling and--pulled down his waistcoat for the second time.

"Sir," said he, and his cherubic whiskers seemed positively to quiver,
"I presoom--I say, I presoom you are referring to--Young Har?"

"I meant Mr. Ravenslee."

"Then may I beg that you'll allood to him 'enceforth as Young Har? This
is Young Har's own room, sir. These is Young Har's own picters, sir.
When Young Har is absent, I generally sit 'ere with me cigar and observe
said picters. I'm fond of hart, sir; I find hart soothing and restful.
The picters surrounding of you are all painted by Young Har's very own
'and--subjeks various. Number one--a windmill very much out o' repair,
but that's hart, sir. Number two--a lady dressed in what I might term
dish-a-bell, sir, and there isn't much of it, but that's hart again.
Number three--a sunset. Number four--moonlight; 'e didn't get the moon
in the picter but the light's there and that's the great thing--effect,
sir, effect! Of course, being only studies, they don't look
finished--which is the most hartisticest part about 'em! But, lord!
Young Har never finishes anything--too tired! 'Ang me, sir, if I don't
think 'e were born tired! But then, 'oo ever knew a haristocrat as
wasn't?"

"But," demurred Mr. Stevens, staring down into his empty glass, "I
thought 'e was a American, your--Young Har?"

"Why, 'e is and 'e ain't, sir. His father was only a American, I'll
confess, but his mother was blue blood, every drop guaranteed, sir, and
as truly English as--as I am!"

"And is 'e the Mr. Ravenslee as is the sportsman? Goes in for boxing,
don't 'e? Very much fancied as a heavyweight, ain't 'e? My governor's
seen him box and says 'e's a perfect snorter, by Jove!"

Mr. Brimberly sighed, and soothed a slightly agitated whisker.

"Why, yes," he admitted, "I'm afraid 'e does box--but only as a
ammitoor, Mr. Stevens, strickly as a ammitoor, understand!"

"And he's out making a night of it, is 'e?" enquired Mr. Stevens,
leaning back luxuriously and stretching his legs. "Bit of a rip, ain't
'e?"

"A--wot, sir?" enquired Mr. Brimberly with raised brows.

"Well, very wild, ain't he--drinks, gambles, and hetceteras, don't he?"

"Why, as to that, sir," answered Mr. Brimberly, dexterously performing
on the syphon, "I should answer you, drink 'e may, gamble 'e do,
hetceteras I won't answer for, 'im being the very hacme of
respectability though 'e is a millionaire and young."

"And when might you expect 'im back?"

"Why, there's no telling, Mr. Stevens."

"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Stevens, and sat up very suddenly.

"'Is movements, sir, is quite--ah--quite metehoric!"

"My eye!" exclaimed Mr. Stevens, gulping his brandy and soda rather
hastily.

"Metehoric is the only word for it, sir!" pursued Mr. Brimberly with a
slow nod. "'E may drop in on me at any moment, sir!"

"Why, then," said his guest, rising, "p'r'aps I'd better be moving?"

"On the other 'and," pursued Mr. Brimberly, smiling and caressing his
left whisker, "'e may be on 'is way to Hafghanistan or Hasia Minor at
this pre-cise moment--'e is that metehoric, lord! These millionaires is
much of a muchness, sir, 'ere to-day, gone to-morrer. Noo York this
week, London or Paris the next. Young Har is always upsetting my plans,
'e is, and that's a fact, sir! Me being a nat'rally quiet, reasonable,
and law-abiding character, I objects to youthful millionaires on
principle, Mr. Stevens, on principle!"

"Ditto!" nodded Mr. Stevens, his glance wandering uneasily to the door
again, "ditto with all my 'eart, sir. If it's all the same to you, I
think p'r'aps I'd better be hopping--you know--"

"Oh, don't you worry about Young Har; 'e won't bother us to-night; 'e's
off Long Island way to try his newest 'igh-power racing car--'e's
driving in the Vanderbilt Cup Race next month. To-night 'e expects to do
eighty miles or so, and 'opes to sleep at one of 'is clubs. I say 'e
'opes an' expects so to do!"

"Yes," nodded Mr. Stevens, "certainly, but what do you mean?"

"Sir," sighed Mr. Brimberly, "if you'd been forced by stern dooty to sit
be'ind Young Har in a fast automobile as I 'ave, you'd know what I mean.
Reckless? Speed? Well, there!" and Mr. Brimberly lifted hands and eyes
and shook his head until his whiskers vibrated with horror.

"Then you're pretty sure," said Mr. Stevens, settling luxurious boots
upon a cushioned chair, "you're pretty sure he won't come bobbing up
when least expected?"

"Pretty sure!" nodded Mr. Brimberly. "You see, this nooest car is the
very latest thing in racing cars--cost a fortune, consequently it's
bound to break down--these here expensive cars always do, believe me!"

"Why, then," said Mr. Stevens, helping himself to one of Mr. Brimberly's
master's cigars, "I say let joy and 'armony be unconfined! How about
Jenkins and 'is banjer?"

"I'll call 'im up immediate!" nodded Mr. Brimberly, rising. "Mr. Jenkins
is a true hartist, equally facetious and soulful, sir!"

So saying, Mr. Brimberly arose and crossed toward the telephone. But
scarcely had he taken three steps when he paused suddenly and stood
rigid and motionless, his staring gaze fixed upon the nearest window;
for from the shadowy world beyond came a sound, faint as yet and far
away, but a sound there was no mistaking--the dismal tooting of an
automobile horn.

"'Eavens an' earth!" exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, and crossing to the window
he peered out. Once again the horn was heard, but very much nearer now,
and louder, whereupon Mr. Brimberly turned, almost hastily, and his
visitor rose hurriedly.

"It's very annoying, Mr. Stevens," said he, "but can I trouble you
to--to step--er--down--stairs--_with_ the glasses? It's 'ighly
mortifying, but may I ask you to--er--step a little lively, Mr.
Stevens?"

Without a word, Mr. Stevens caught up the tray from the piano and glided
away on his toe-points; whereupon Mr. Brimberly (being alone) became
astonishingly agile and nimble all at once, diving down to straighten a
rug here and there, rearranging chairs and tables; he even opened the
window and hurled two half-smoked cigars far out into the night; and his
eye was as calm, his brow as placid, his cheek as rosy as ever, only his
whiskers--those snowy, telltale whiskers, quivered spasmodically, very
much as though endeavouring to do the manifestly impossible and flutter
away with Mr. Brimberly altogether; yes, it was all in his whiskers.

Thus did Mr. Brimberly bustle softly to and fro until he paused, all at
once, arrested by the sound of a slow, firm step near by. Then Mr.
Brimberly coughed, smoothed his winglike whiskers, and--pulled down his
waistcoat for the third time. And lo! even as he did so, the door
opened, and the hero of this history stood upon the threshold.

CHAPTER II

OF A MOURNFUL MILLIONAIRE WHO LACKED AN OBJECT

Geoffrey Ravenslee was tall and pale and very languid, so languid indeed
that the automobile coat he bore across his arm slipped to the floor ere
Mr. Brimberly could take it, after which he shed his cap and goggles and
dropped them, drew off his gauntlets and dropped them and, crossing to
his favourite lounge chair, dropped himself into it, and lay there
staring into the fire.

"Ah, Brimberly," he sighed gently, "making a night of it?"

"Why, sir," bowed his butler, "indeed, sir--to tell the truth, sir--"

"You needn't, Brimberly. Excellent cigars you smoke--judging from the
smell. May I have one?"

"Sir," said Brimberly, his whiskers slightly agitated, "cigars, sir?"

"In the cabinet, I think," and Mr. Ravenslee motioned feebly with one
white hand towards the tall, carved cabinet in an adjacent corner.

Mr. Brimberly coughed softly behind plump fingers.

"The--the key, sir?" he suggested.

"Oh, not at all necessary, Brimberly; the lock is faulty, you know."

"Sir?" said Brimberly, soothing a twitching whisker.

"If you are familiar with the life of the Fourteenth Louis, Brimberly,
you will remember that the Grand Monarch hated to be kept waiting--so do
I. A cigar--in the cabinet yonder."

With his whiskers in a high state of agitation, Mr. Brimberly laid by
the garments he held clutched in one arm and coming to the cabinet,
opened it, and taking thence a box of cigars, very much at random, came
back, carrying it rather as though it were a box of highly dangerous
explosives, and setting it at his master's elbow, struck a match.

As Mr. Brimberly watched his master select and light his cigar, it
chanced that Young R. raised his eyes and looked at him, and to be sure
those eyes were surprisingly piercing and quick for one so very languid.
Indeed, Mr. Brimberly seemed to think so, for he coughed again, faint
and discreetly, behind his hand, while his whiskers quivered slightly,
though perceptibly.

"You're 'ome quite--quite unexpected, sir!"

"Brimberly, I'm afraid I am, but I hope I don't intrude?"

"Intrude, sir!" repeated Mr. Brimberly. "Oh, very facetious, sir, very
facetious indeed!" and he laughed, deferentially and soft.

"I blew the horn, but I see he left his hat behind him!" sighed Young
R., nodding languidly toward the headgear of Mr. Stevens, which had
fallen beneath a chair and thus escaped notice.

"Why, I--indeed, sir," said Mr. Brimberly, stooping to make a fierce
clutch at it, "I took the liberty of showing a friend of mine your--your
picters, sir--no offence, I 'ope, sir?"

"Friend?" murmured his master.

"Name of Stevens, sir, valet to Lord Barberton--a most sooperior person
indeed, sir!"

"Barberton? I don't agree with you, Brimberly."

"Stevens, sir!"

"Ah! And you showed him my--pictures, did you?"

"Yes, sir, I did take that liberty--no offence, sir, I--"

"Hum! Did he like 'em?"

"Like them, sir! 'E were fair overpowered, sir! Brandy and soda, sir?"

"Thanks! Did he like that, too?"

"Why, sir--I--indeed--"

"Oh, never mind--to-night is an occasion, anyway--just a splash of soda!
Yes, Brimberly, when the clocks strike midnight I shall be thirty-five
years old--"

"Indeed, sir!" exclaimed Brimberly, clasping his plump hands softly and
bowing, "then allow me to wish you many, many 'appy returns, sir, with
continued 'ealth, wealth, and all 'appiness, sir!"

"Happiness?" repeated Young R., and smiled quite bitterly, as only the
truly young can smile. "Happiness!" said he again, "thank you,
Brimberly--now take your friend his hat, and have the extreme goodness
to make up the fire for me. I love a fire, as you know, but especially
when I am mournful. And pray--hurry, Brimberly!"

Forthwith Mr. Brimberly bowed and bustled out, but very soon bustled
in again; and now, as he stooped, menial-like, to ply the coal tongs,
though his domelike brow preserved all its wonted serenity, no words
could possibly express all the mute rebellion of those eloquent
whiskers.

"Hanything more, sir?" he enquired, as he rose from his knees.

"Why, yes," said Young R., glancing up at him, and beneath the quizzical
look in those sleepy grey eyes, Mr. Brimberly's whiskers wilted
slightly. "You're getting a trifle too--er--portly to hop round on your
knees, aren't you, Brimberly? Pray sit down and talk to me."

Mr. Brimberly bowed and took a chair, sitting very upright and attentive
while his master frowned into the fire.

"Thirty-five is a ripe age, Brimberly!" said he at last; "a man should
have made something of his life--at thirty-five!"

"Certingly, sir!"

"And I'm getting quite into the sere and yellow leaf, am I not,
Brimberly?"

Mr. Brimberly raised a plump, protesting hand.

"'Ardly that, sir, 'ardly that!" said he, "we are hall of us getting
on, of course--"

"Where to, Brimberly? On where, Brimberly--on what?"

"Why, sir, since you ask me, I should answer--begging your
parding--'eavens knows, sir!"

"Precisely! Anyway, I'm going there fast."

"Where, sir?"

"Heaven knows, Brimberly."

"Ah--er--certingly, sir!"

"Now, Brimberly, as a hard-headed, matter-of-fact, common-sense being,
what would you suggest for a poor devil who is sick and tired of
everything and most of all--of himself?"

"Why, sir, I should prescribe for that man change of hair, sir--travel,
sir. I should suggest to that man Hafghanistan or Hasia Minor, or both,
sir. There's your noo yacht a-laying in the river, sir--"

His master leant his square chin upon his square fist and still frowning
at the fire, gently shook his head.

"My good Brimberly," he sighed, "haven't I travelled in most parts of
the world?"

"Why, yes, sir, you've travelled, sir, very much so indeed, sir--you've
shot lions and tigers and a helephant or so, and exchanged sentiments
with raging 'eathen--as rage in nothing but a string o' beads--but what
about your noomerous possessions in Europe, sir?"

"Ah, yes," nodded Young R., "I do possess some shanties and things over
there, don't I, Brimberly?"

"Shanties, sir!" Mr. Brimberly blinked, and his whiskers bristled
in horrified reproof. "Shanties!--Oh, dear me, sir!" he murmured.
"Shanties--your magnificent town mansion situate in Saint James's
Square, London, as your respected father hacquired from a royal dook,
sir! Shanties!--your costly and helegant res-eye-dence in Park Lane,
sir!"

"Hum!" said Young R. moodily.

"Then, in Scotland, sir, we 'ave your castle of Drumlochie, sir--rocks,
turrets, battlements, 'ighly grim and romantic, sir!"

"Ha!" sighed his young master, frowning at his cigar.

"Next, sir,--in Italy we find your ancient Roman villa, sir--halabaster
pillows and columns, sir--very historical though a trifle wore with wars
and centuries of centoorians, sir, wherefore I would humbly suggest a
coat or two of paint, sir, applied beneath your very own eye, sir--"

"No, Brimberly," murmured Young R., "paint might have attractions--Italy,
none!"

"Certingly not, sir, cer-tingly not! Which brings us to your schloss in
Germany, sir--"

"Nor Germany! Lord, Brimberly, are there many more?"

"Ho, yes, sir, plenty!" nodded Mr, Brimberly, "your late honoured and
respected father, sir, were a rare 'and at buying palaces, sir; 'e
collected 'em, as you might say, like some folks collects postage
starmps, sir!"

"And a collection of the one is about as useless as a collection of the
other, Brimberly!"

"Why, true, sir, one man can't live in a dozen places all at once, but
why not work round 'em in turn, beginning, say, at your imposing
Venetian palazzo--canals, sir, gondoleers--picturesque though dampish?
Or your shally in the Tyro-leen Halps, sir, or--"

"Brimberly, have the goodness to--er--shut up!"

"Certingly, sir."

"To-day is my birthday, Brimberly, and to-night I've reached a kind of
'jumping off' place in my life, and--between you and me--I'm seriously
thinking of--er--jumping off!"

"I crave parding, sir?"

"I'm thirty-five years old," continued Young R., his frown growing
blacker, "and I've never done anything really worth while in all my
useless life! Have the goodness to look at me, will you?"

"With pleasure, sir!"

"Well, what do I look like?"

"The very hacme of a gentleman, sir!"

"Kind of you, Brimberly, but I know myself for an absolutely useless
thing--a purposeless, ambitionless wretch, drifting on to God knows
what. I'm a hopeless wreck, a moral derelict, and it has only occurred
to me to-night--but"--and here the speaker paused to flick the ash from
his cigar--"I fear I'm boring you?"

"No, sir--ho, no, not at all, indeed, sir!"

"You're very kind, Brimberly--light a cigarette! Ah, no, pardon me, you
prefer my cigars, I know."

"Why--why, sir--" stammered Mr. Brimberly, laying a soothing hand upon
his twitching whisker, "indeed, I--I--"

"Oh--help yourself, pray!"

Hereupon Mr. Brimberly took a cigar very much at random, and, while
Young R. watched with lazy interest, proceeded to cut it--though with
singularly clumsy fingers.

"A light, Mr. Brimberly--allow me!"

So Ravenslee held the light while Mr. Brimberly puffed his cigar to a
glow, though to be sure he coughed once and choked, as he met Young R.'s
calm grey eye.

"Now," pursued his master, "if you're quite comfortable, Mr. Brimberly,
perhaps you'll be good enough to--er--hearken further to my tale of
woe?"

Mr. Brimberly choked again and recovering, smoothed his writhing
whiskers and murmured: "It would be a honour!"

"First, then, Brimberly, have you ever hated yourself--I mean, despised
yourself so utterly and thoroughly that the bare idea of your existence
makes you angry and indignant?"

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