The Definite Object | Page 5

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