The Definite Object | Page 3

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.