The Definite Object | Page 8

the mornin', sir?" he
enquired.
"The morning, Joe? Who can say what may happen between now and
then?"
"Shall I have her round at eleven, sir, or--"
"Eleven will do as well as any other time--let it go at that."
"You was to see your broker, Mr. Anderson, in the morning over them
steamship shares, sir."

"Shares, Joe, are a vanity; all is vanity--they weary me. Mr. Brimberly
yawns, and you look sleepy--good night, Joe; pleasant dreams."
"Good night, sir!" and touching his right eyebrow, Joe went out,
closing the door behind him.
"And now," said Mr. Ravenslee, puffing languidly at his cigar,
"referring to the necessary object, there is a chance that it may be
found--even yet, Mr. Brimberly!"
"Object, sir," murmured Mr. Brimberly, "found, sir--to be sure, sir."
"Yes; I intend you shall find it for me, Brimberly."
Mr. Brimberly's abstraction gave place to sudden amaze.
"Find it--wot, me, sir? Hexcuse me, sir, but did you say--" Mr.
Brimberly actually gaped!
"You, Brimberly, of course!"
"But--but wot kind of a hobject--and where, sir?"
"Really," sighed Young R., "these are quite fool questions for one of
your hard-headed common sense! If I knew exactly 'what' and 'where',
I'd go and find it myself--at least, I might!"
"But--'ow in the world, sir--begging your parding I'm sure, but 'ow am I
to go a-finding hobjex as I've never seen nor 'eard of?"
"Brimberly, I pass! But if you manage it in--say a week, I'll double
your wages and give you a--er--a bonus into the bargain; think it over."
"I--I will, sir--indeed, sir!"
"Very well; you may go."
"Certingly, sir." Mr. Brimberly bowed and crossed to the door but,
being there, paused. "Double me wages I think it were, sir, and a bonus?

Very 'andsome, very 'andsome indeed, sir--thank you, sir." Saying
which, Mr. Brimberly bowed himself out, but immediately bowed
himself in again.
"Sir," said he, "if you could give me some hidea, sir--"
"Some what?"
"A few 'ints, sir, as to the nature of said hobject--whether animal,
mineral, or nooter, sir?"
"Well--perhaps 'animal' might be the more interesting."
"Now--as to gender, sir--masculine shall we say, or shall we make it
feminine?"
"Oh--either will do! And yet, since you offer so wide a selection,
perhaps--er--feminine--?"
"Very good, sir!"
"And you'd better make it singular number, Brimberly."
"Certingly, sir, much obliged, sir! Will you be wanting me again, sir?"
"Not again, Brimberly."
"Then good night, sir--thank you, sir!" And Mr. Brimberly went softly
forth and closed the door noiselessly behind him.
Being alone, Mr. Ravenslee switched off the lights and sat in the
fire-glow.
"Feminine gender, singular number, objective case, governed by the
verb--to love--I wonder!"
And he laughed a little bitterly (and very youthfully) as he stared down
into the dying fire.

CHAPTER III
HOW GEOFFREY RAVENSLEE WENT SEEKING AN OBJECT
A clock in the hall without struck midnight, but Mr. Ravenslee sat there
long after the silvery chime had died away, his chin sunk upon his
broad chest, his sombre eyes staring blindly at the fading embers, lost
in profound and gloomy meditation. But, all at once, he started and
glanced swiftly around toward a certain window, the curtains of which
were only partly drawn, and his lounging attitude changed instantly to
one of watchful alertness.
As he sat thus, broad shoulders stooped, feet drawn up--poised for swift
action, he beheld a light that flashed here and there, that vanished and
came again, hovering up and down and to and fro outside the window;
wherefore he reached out a long arm in the gloom and silently opened a
certain drawer in the escritoire.
Came a soft click, a faint creak, and a breath of cool, fragrant air as the
window was cautiously opened, and a shapeless something climbed
through, while Mr. Ravenslee sat motionless--waiting.
The flashing light winked again, a small, bright disc that hovered
uncertainly and finally steadied upon the carved cabinet in the corner,
and the Something crept stealthily thither. A long-drawn, breathless
minute and then--the room was flooded with brilliant light, and a figure,
kneeling before the cabinet, uttered a strangled cry and leapt up, only to
recoil before Mr. Ravenslee's levelled revolver.
A pallid-faced, willowy lad, this, of perhaps seventeen, who, sinking to
his knees, threw up an arm across his face, then raised both hands
above his head.
"Ah, don't shoot, mister!" he gasped. "Oh, don't shoot--I got me hands
up!"

"Stand up!" said Ravenslee grimly, "up with you and shutter that
window--you may have friends outside, and I'm taking no chances!
Quick--shutter that window, I say."
The lad struggled to his feet and, crossing to the window, fumbled the
shutter into place, his ghastly face turning and turning toward the
revolver that glittered in such deadly fashion in Mr. Ravenslee's steady
hand. At length, the shutters barred, the