THE DEFINITE OBJECT.

Waikato Times, Volume 95, Issue 14949, 20 May 1922, Page 10 (Supplement)

THE DEFINITE OBJECT.

THi STOKYTILLIH

(BY JEFFERY FARNOL.) CHAPTER XXXVI. “Mrs Trapes,’ said Ravenslee, laying aside the book he had been readin- and letting his glance wander across smooth lawns and clipped yew hedges—‘Mrs Trapes, what about that stewed shin of beef with carrots and onions you prepared for —our wedding supper?’ ‘Which?’ said Mrs Trapes, glancing up from her everlasting knitting fwhich you never stopped to eat.’ ‘Which omission I will now haste to rectify. Mrs Trapes, pray so and get it ready. I’m ravenous!’ ‘Good f’r you!’ said Mrs Trapes; f> »in about ’arf-an-hour you shall ’ave a nice cup of beef-tea to raven at.’ ' ‘Confounded slops!’ growled Ravenglee. ‘Doctor’s orders!’ nodded Mrs Trapes, clicking her knitting needles. ‘Can’t I have something to chew at? ‘Sure. How’ll a cracker soaked in 'milk soot?’ , ‘Cracker!’ snarled Ravenslee. ‘Doctor’s orders!’ t Ravenslee muttered and took up his book. „ . . . ‘Helen who, did you say? inquired Mrs Trapes, glancing up. ‘Mr Geoffrey I mean Ravenslee—l’m surprised at you; swearin’ ain’t good for a invalid, your temperature’ll be rose if >’ ou ■ swear.’ ‘But, my dear Mrs Trapes, I m hungry—very hungry —darncidj hungry I ‘Which is a sign as you’re improvin’ , rapid. • ; : v ‘.Beef tea’ll be ’ere soon, j • ‘l won’t drink the stuff!’ ‘Oh, but you will, when Hermy • y brings it.’ ‘Hermione!' said Ravenslee, his

M voice grown gentle, and laying down ’’’his book again. ‘Mrs Trapes, have you noticed any change in lately?’ ‘A bit ’andsorner p’r’aps.’ ‘Yes; but I don’t mean that; it’s • • something tliat puzzles me. She seems to have grown more—more reserved I’ i - and shy.’ . ; i ‘Well, she was married to you before : : she knew it kind of. almost.’ ‘Do you suppose that’s -it?’ / ‘Sure. What you got t’ do, Mr ■it Geoffrey, is —won ’oi*i \\ no *er all you l know ’ow. The best woman can t be woeed too ’ard nor too frequent so you start in an’ woo.’ >But sometimes it has almost seemed that she—avoided me.’ ~ ' . ‘Well, don’t let ’cr.’ •Do you suppose she’s grieving for Spike?’ ' J)t •Well, ’e ain’t exactly a jy l her. There ’e is goin’ straight to the devil . ; ' along 1 o’ that Bud M'Ginuis!’ 4.v ‘i must go and fetch him as soon as I can get about again.’ ‘lf ’e’ll come.’

: ; ‘Oil, he’ll come,’ said Ravenslee ; ’ grimly. ‘l’ve decided to send him to • college.’ * 'lf ’e’ll go.’ '7. ‘Qh, he’ll go; there’s quite a lot of 4 * 1 ' ’■

, ,good in him, Mrs Trapes.’ ‘Only, it’s mighty ’ard to find, Mr • .Geoffrey. If that b'y wants t’ g 0 t’ • • th’ devil, to the devil ’e’ll go. What. • you got t’ do is t’ make ’er forget ’im " .—if you can. Oh, drat ’im, anyway V and, squaring her elbows, Mrs Trapes . knitted so angrily that her knittingneedles clashed like weapons fiercely ; opposed. | • ‘Tes; but suppose she is grieving for ■ ■ him, Mrs Trapes?’ :; ‘Why, then,’ said Mrs Trapes—’why ' ' then Oh, shucks! I guess I’ll go v-i; »n’ see after that beef-tea.’ When she had gone, Ravenslee

plunged icrgloomy thought until roused by the sound of approaching feet with • a creak of shoes, a loud arrogant creak there was no mistaking, and the Old Un appeared, followed by Joe and the Spider, the latter Jnnklmr very smart In his new livery. •Guv,’ said the Old Un, ‘best respex! ’Ere we be, come to say ’ow glad we

arc ’t sco ye come up smilin’ an’ ready for more after Pate ketchin’ ye a : pcrishin’ wallop as we all thought ’ad doubled ye up till the day o’ doom, ’fire ye arc on your pins again, ’an •’cre’s us come t’ give ye greetin’s doo an’ j'y o’ your marriage. Shut up, Joe!’ . l ‘Why, I wasn’t speakin’i’ growled Joe.

‘No; but you meant to —you’re always meanin’ ,to, you arc.—Guv,’ continued the Old Un, ‘folks is alius agivin’ an’ takin’ in marriage in this ’ere world, suc'h' ben’ their natur’—they can’t ’elp it! But never in this world nor no other was there over sich a weddiu’ as yourrt. There was ’cr so young ’an fair an’ full o’ life, an’ there was you so pale an’ nigh to death —one leg in the grave—’an there was rne so full o’ years an’ wisdom an’ sorrer for ye both —oh, my.poor old bowels was yearnin’ fer ye.’ . . ‘Lord, Old Uni’ expostulated Joe, ‘you keep them boweis o’ yours out o’ It.’

‘Shut up, .Toe, in your' ignorance; ; bowels is in the Bible, an’ bowels I abide by now an ’for ever, amen! Well, there we all were, guv, bandin’ o’er your couch o’ care very silent an’ solemn. “Not a drum was ’eard nor a funereal note,” an’ there was you s’paie an’ nigh t’ death.’ ‘You said all that afore, Old Uni’ growled .Toe. ‘You leave me alone, Joe,’ said the Old Un, scowling and flourishing a trembling fist; ‘you Icmrrie he, or you’ll be pale an’ nigh ’death next. —Well, there was you, guv, an’ all ’spale an’ still, when, “’Go giveth this woman?’ sayfe the parson-cove very solemn. “That’s me!” says J, Quick an’ ready. An’, so, .me ’avin’ ’elpcd thnafry ye, I’ve .'brought Joe an’ Spider ’t wish ye ’calth an’ ’appiness an’ a j’y continual. —Now, Joe, it’s your round—speak up!’ - , ‘Sit’,’ said Joe heavily, ‘I —we—l ’ mean —Lord, sir, I am that glad—all, glad as—as never was.’ ‘That’ll do for you, Joe !’ snapped the • Old Un. ‘Spider’s round.’ ■5 - Hereupon the Spicier lurched for- £ ward, hunched his wide shoulders, took ■r. . off his smart cap, and stared at it very '" hard. ‘Bo,’ said lie, chewing vigorously—‘l mean boss —er —no, that ain’t right either—this is sure a bum start I’m makin’.’

‘ “Bo’ ” will do, Spider,’ said Ravenslee; ‘let it go at that.’

.‘Why, then, bo,’ I ain’t one as is ever goin’t’ win any gold-mounted testimonials at any lalk-fcst or heartthrobbin’ spiel-act; but what I wantcr tell you is this —an’ i guess you know I ain’t only breathin’ out puffs o’ hot air—i wancher t’know as I feel about you like —like Joe an’ the Old Un does —an’ then some more.- Ye see, bo’, though, I ain’t never held a straight flush again four aces, ’n’ don’t expect to; though . I shan’t ever be a world’s .champion like Joe here, I guess I know to-day what it feels like, because you ain’t goin" t’ snuff it after all; and now I guess you’re on.’ Saying which, the SiddJr dexterously shifted his wad to the other cheek and chewed faster than over. ‘I am, Spider; and I .want yon to

know I’m grateful, to you all three. Also, I want to thank you all for keeping this affair out of the papers, though how you managed it beats me.’ ‘Guv,’ cried the Old Un, tremulous and eager, ‘oh guv, we’re fair sleuth hounds, we are —’specially me! There ain’t a ’tective nor secret-service cove nor bloomin’ bobbv lit to black our shoes: —’specially mine. Ye see, guv,, I know who done it; Joe thinks he knows, ’an Spider don’t think at all!’

‘Oh!’ said Ravenslee, and, looking round, caught the Spider watching him wide-eyed, his jaws grimly tense and immobile; but, meeting his glance, the Spider lowered his eyes, shifted Ills smartly gaitered legs,, and chewed viciously. ‘So, guv,’ piped the Old Un cheerily, ‘we’re out for the criminal’s gore—specially me! We’re goin’ to track the perisher to ’is ’orrible doom. Where’er ’e be. To th’ gallers-tree, Oh guv, we mean ’t bring ’im; An’ laugh with-j’y When, nice an’ ’igh, The blinki’ bobbies swing ’im.’

‘And you think you know who it was V / ‘I do, guv—l do!’ nodded the Old Un. ‘I knows as ’twas a enemy as done it., Joe thinks it was one o’ them gang fellers, an’ Spider don’t say who ’e thinks done it.’ Once again Ravenslee caught the Spider’s eye watching him furtively, and once again he noticed that the Spider’s jaws were clamped hard, while he was twisting his natty chauffeur’s cap in fingers strangely agitated. ‘Sir,’ said Joe, ‘me an’ the Spider searched that wood, an’ we found a epat’ * ‘Shut up, Joe,’ snarled the Old Un; ‘you’re tellin’ it all wrong.—Guv,- Joe an’ the Spider went -a-seekin’ an’ asearehin' that wood, an ’they found a—oloo.’ j ‘Oil!’ said Ravenslee.

‘A cloo as is a-goin’ t’ hang somebody yet—a cloo, guv, as ain’t t’ be Qkalled for blood-guilt an’ mystery.— Joe,’ said the Old Un, sinking ids voice to a hoarse whisper, ‘the hour is come —perjooce the cloo!’ Hereupon Joe produced a pocketbook, and took thence a highly ornate coat whereto a shred of cloth was attached. ‘1 found this, sir,’ said he', ‘close by where you was a-lyin.’ ’

So Ravenslee took the button upon his palm, and, as he eyed it, the Spider saw' his black brows twitch suddenly together;’ then he yawned. ‘And you found this in the wood, Joe?’ he inquired sleepily. ‘I did, sir. With that to e’lp ’em the perfice would ’avc the'murderin’ cove in no lime, an’ more than once I’ve been goin’ to ’and it over to ’em. But then I thought I’d better wait a bit; if you died was time enough an’ if you didn’t I’d keep it for you: so, sir, there it is.’ ‘You did quite right, Joe. Yes, you did very 7 right indeed! For a long moment Ravenslee sat languidly twisting the button in thin white fingers, then flicked it far out over the balustrade, down among the dense evergreens in the garden below. The Old Un gasped, Joe gasped, and the Spider sighed audibly. ‘Lorgorramighty! Oh guv, guv.’ quavered the old man, ‘you’ve throwed away our cloo —our .blood-cloo —th' p’lice—• '’ou’ve lost our evidence 1’ ‘Old Un, of course I have! You see, I don’t like clues, or blcod, or the police. You have all been clever enough, wise enough to k&ep this confounded business quiet, and so will I.’ ‘Bjit, oh, guv, arter somebody tryin’. t’kill ye like ajdog, ain’t there goin’ V be no vengeance, no gallers-tree, no ‘leciric chair, nor nothing’?’ ‘Nothing 1’ answered Ravenslee gently. ‘Somebody tried to kill mq hut somebody didn't kill me; here I am getting stronger every day, so we’ll let it go at that.’ ‘Why, then, I’m done!’ said the Old Un, rising. ‘Guv, you’re crool an* stony-’earted! ’Ere’s me, a poor old cove as ’as been dreamin’ an’ dreamin’ o’ gallers-trees an’ ’lectric chairs, aT ’ere’s you been an’ took ’em'off me! Guv, I’m disapp’inted wi’ ye. Oh ingratitood, thou art the guv!’ So saying, the Old Un clapped on his hat and creaked indignantly away. ‘Crumbs!’ exclaimed Joe; ‘what a blood- thirsty old cove ’e is, with ’is gallers-trees! This means jam, this does.’

‘Jam!’ repeated Ravenslee, wonderingly.

‘Sir, whenever the Old Un’s put out ’e flies to jam, same as some chaps do to drink; makes a fair old beast o’ hisself, ’e do. If you’ll excuse us, sir, Spider an’ me’ll just keep a eye on ’im to see as e’ don’t go upsettin’ ’is ••Id innard again.’ Ravenslee nodded, and, smiling, watched them hurry after the old man; but - gradually his amusement waned, and he became lost in frowning thought. So deeply abstracted was he that he started to llnd Mrs Trapes regarding him with her sharp, bright eyes.

‘Mr Geoffrey, ’ere’s a cup o’ beef-tea as I’ve prepared with my own ’and.’

‘But where’s

‘She’s gone, t’bed. ’Ere’s- a cup o’ beef tea as is stiff with nourishment, so get it into.your system good an’ quick.’

’Gone to bed!

‘She says it’s a ’cadache, o’ course—drink it down while it ’s ’ot —hut I reckon it’s “more'n a 'eadache—yes, Sir. A while back I says t’ you. “Woo ’er," I says, Mr Geoffrey. I now says—let ’er alone a while. The pore child’s all wore out —-it’s nerves as is the matter wi’ ’er. I reckon. So, Mr Ravenslee, be patient, this ain’t no wooin’-time; it’s rest she needs, an’ change o’ air.’ ‘Why, theft,* Mrs Trapes, she shall have them!’

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE WOES OF MR BRIMBERLY. Mr Brimberly, having dined well, as was his custom, lay at his case in a luxurious lounge-chair in the shade of the piazza. The day was hot; wherefore on a table at his elbow were a siphon, a hoi tie, and a long glass in which ice tinkled alluringly; between Ills plump lingers was a large cigar,; and across his plump knees was an open paper, over which he yawned and puffed and sipped in turn. Nevertheless, Mr Brimberly was bored, and, dropping the paper languidly, he cherished a languorous whisker, staring dull-eyed across stately terraces and wide, neat lawns to where, beyond yew-walks and noble trees, the distant river flowed. Presently, as lie sat, he was aware of a small girl in a white pinafore approaching along one of these waiks — a Small iyjihg' who hopped along bv means of'a little crutch, and sang to herself in a soft, happy voice. Mr Brimberly blinked.

Ileodless of the eyes that watched her, the child turned into the rosegarden, pausing now and then to inhale the scent of some great bloom that filled the air with its sweetness. Mr Birmbhriy sat up, for he permitted few to enter the rose-garden. Ail at once the child, singing still, reached up and broke off a scarlet bloonu

Mr Brimberly arose. “Little girl!’ he called, in voice round and sonorous —‘little gibl, come ypu ’ere, an’ come immediate!’

The child started, turned, and afler a-moment’s hesitation hobbled forward, her little face as white as her pinafore. At the foot of the broad steps leadingup to the piazza she paused, looking up at him with-great, pleading eyes, Mr Brimberly beckoned with portentous finger. ‘Little girl, come ’ere!’ lie repeated. ‘Come up ’ere, an’ come immediate !’

The small crutch tapped laboriously up the steps, and she stood beore Mr Brimberly’s figure —mute, breathless, and trembling a little. ‘Little girl,’ he demanded, threatening- of whisker, ’oo are you, an’ — what?’ ‘Please, I’m Hazel.’

‘Oh. indeed!’ nodded Mr Brimberly, pulling at his waistcoat. ‘Azel what? An’ say “sir" next, time, if you please.’ ‘Hazel Bowker, sir;’ and she dropped him a little curtsy, spoiled somewhat by agitation and her crutch. ‘Bowker! Bowker!’ repeated Mr Brimberly. ‘Ah, to be sure —one of the hunder-gardeners as I put on three or four weeks ago.’

‘Yes, please, sir.’ ‘Little girl, what are you a-doln’ in that garden? Why are you wanderin’ in the vicinity of this mansion?’ ,‘Please, I’m looking for Hermy.’ “Ermy?’ repeated. Mr Brimberly. "Ermy? Wot kind of creater may that be Is it a dog? Is it a cat? Wot is it

‘lt’s only my Pincess Nobody, sir!’ ‘Oh, a friend of yours—ha! Persons of that class do not pervade these regions! And wot do I be’old grasped in your ’and?’ Hazel looked down at the rose she held, and trembled anew. ‘Little girl—wot is it?’ demanded the inexorable voice. ‘A rose, sir.’ ‘Was it—your rose?’ ‘N-no, sir.’ ‘Don’t you know as it’s a wicked hact to take what ain’t yours? Don’t you know as it’s thievin’ an’ robbery, an’ that thievin’ an’ robbery leads to prison-bars an’ shackle-chains?’ ‘Oh, sir, I —l didn’t mean’ The little voice was choked with sobs. •Well, let this he a warnin’ to you to thieve no more, or next time I shall ’ave to become angry. Now —go ’cnce 1’

Dropping the rose, the child turned and hobbled away as fast as her crutch would allow, and Mr Brimbcrly, having watched her out of sight, emptied his glass and took up his cigar, but, finding it had gone flung it away. Then he sighed, and, sinking back among his cushions, closed his eyes, and was soon snoring blissfully. But by-and-by Mr Brimberly began to dream, a very evil dream, wherein it seemed that for many desperate and crimes abominable he was chained and shackled in a dock, and the judge, donning the black cap, sentenced him to be shorn of those adornments, his whiskers. In his dream It seemed that there and then the executioner advanced to his fell work; a bony hand gasped his right whisker, the deadly razor flashed, and Mr Brimberly awoke gurgling—awoke to catch a glimpse of a hand so - hastily withdrawn that it seemed to vanish into thin air. "Eavens an’ earth!’ he gasped, and clapping hand to cheek, was relieved to find his whisker yet intact; but for a long moment he sat clutching .that handful of soft and fleecy hair, staring before him in puzzled wonder, for Hie hand had seemed so very real that he could almost feel it there yet. Presently, bethinking him to glance over his shoulder, Mr Brimberly gasped and goggled, for leaning over the back of his chair was a little old man, very slender, very upright, and very smart as to attire, who fanned himself with a jaunty straw hat band in vivid crimson; an old man whose bright, youthful eyes looked out from a face wizened with age, while up from his bald crown rose a few wisps of white and straggling hair. ‘’Oly ’eavens!’ murmured Mr Brimberly faintly. The visitor, settling his bony elbows more comfortably, fanned himself until his sparse locks waved gently to and fro, and, nodding gently, spoke these words: $ ‘Oh wake thee, oh wake thee, my bonny birdl Oh and sleep no more! Thy pretty pipe I ’aven’t ’eard, But lumme, how you snore!’

Mr Brimberly stared; Mr Brimbcrly’s mouth opened; and eventually jMr Brimberly rose and surveyed the intruder slowly up from glittering shoes to the dome of his head -and down again; and Mr Brimberly’s ample bosom surged, liis eyes kindled, and his whiskers! ‘Cheer-o!’ nodded the Old Un. Mr Brimberly blinked and pulled down his waistcoat. ‘Me good man,’ said he, ‘you’ll find the tradesmen’s entrance round the corner. Go away, if you please; an’ go immediately—l’m prehoccupied.’ ‘No you ain’t; you’re the butler; you are, I lay my oath — Spoons an’ forks An’ drawin’ corks. e That’s your job, ain’t it, chum?’ ‘Chum!’ said Mr Brimberly in tones of horror. ‘Chum!’ he repeated, grasping a handful of indignant whisker. ‘Oh, outrageous! Oh, very hobscene! ’Ow dare you, sir? ’Oo are you, sir—eh, sir? Answer me, an’ answer—prompt!’ 'Leave them cobwebs alone, an’ I’ll tell you, matey.’

‘Matey!’ groaned Mr Brimberly, turning up bis eyes. ‘l’m the guv’s familiar friend and personal pal, I am. I’m ’is adviser—confe'ed.ential, matrcemonial, circumstantial,' an’ archilect’ral. I’m ’is trainer, advance-agent, manager, an’ sparrin’-partner—that’s -who I am. An’ now, mate, ’avin’ ’elped to marry ’im, I’ve jest took a run down 'ere to see as all things is lit an’ proper for ’is ’oneymoon!’

■My word, this is a mad feller, this is!’ murmured Mr Brimbcply; ‘or else ’c's drunk!’ ‘Drunk!’ exclaimed the Old Un, clapping on his hat very much over one eye and glaring. ‘Wot—me?’ ‘I repeat,’ said Mr Brimberly, addressing the universe in general—‘l repeat as 'e is a narsty, drunken little person !’ ‘Person 1’ cried the Old Un, scowling. ‘Why, you pcrishin"— — ‘Old I’ said Mr Brimberly—"old, I beg! Enough ’as been said —go ’once! Oo you are I do not know, wot you are I do not care, but in th,ese regions you do not remain—your langwidge forbids an"

‘Langwidge!’ snorted the Old Un. ‘Why, I ain’t begun yet, you blinkin’, fat-faced, owl-cycd piece o’ sooel’ ‘Your speech, sir,’ continued Mr Brimberly with calm austerity, and making the most of whiskers and waistcoat —‘your speech is re-dolent of slums and back-halloys. I don't know you. I don’t want to know you! You are a feller! Go away, feller!’ ‘Feller!’ snarled the Od Un. ‘Why, you' ‘I repeat,’ said Mr Brimbery, with dignified dciberation —T repeat as you are very low, vulgar little feller!’ The Old Un ccnched his fists. ‘Right-o!’ he nodded cheerily; ‘that’s done it! F’r that I’m a-goili’ t’ punch yc. in the pcrishin’ eye’-ole!’ and he advanced upon the points of his toes, shoulders hunched, and head viciously out-thrust

‘My word!' exclaimed Mr Brimberly.

retreating rather precipitately, ‘this is very discomposing, this is! I shall have to call the perlice.’ ‘Perlice!’ snarled the Old Un, fiercer than ever. ‘You won’t ’ave nothin t call with when I’ve done wi ’ye. I’m goin’ L’ jab ye on th’ beak t’ begin with; then I’ll Jook my ieit t’ >‘oui kidneys an’ swing my right to your p’int, an’ crumple ye up with a jost on your pershin’ solar plexus as’ll stiffon you till th’ day o’ doom!’ ‘‘Oly angels!’ murmured Mr Brimberly, glancing hastily about. ‘The i, while you lay bathed in ’orrible gore, I’m goin’ t’ twist them v.hiskers into a ’angman’s knot!’ ‘This is most distressing!’ sighed Mr Brimberly.

‘Then,’ continued the Old Un, grinding his remaining teeth, ‘l’m a-goin’ t tread your face in an’ dance on yer blighted stummiek. Arter that 1 — ‘Oh, dear me!’ erclaimed Mr Brimberly,’retreating before the oncoming peril and mopping his perspiring brow. But suddenly his wandering eye was arrested by velvet and gold braid, and lifting up his voice, he called, ‘William! James! Gome ’ere—an’ come sharp!’ Two vast and splendid shapes loomed upon the scene, supermen whose silken calves quivered with unaccustomed haste. At a sign from Mr Brimberly they seized upon the Old Un, and, despite ghoulish threats, solemnly bore him off. Down the broad sweep of drive they went, the Old Un pouring forth fluent curses with every' step, until they came to where stood a powerful automobile, from beneath which a pair of neatly gaitered legs protruded. ‘Joe!’ cried the Old Un, apostrophising these Tegs—‘Joe, stop bein’ a crawlin’ worm—come out an’ bash these perishers for me, like a good lad!’

But even while he spoke the footmen hauled him along, so that when Joe eventually wriggled from under the car the three were close beside the great gates. The Old Un was earnestly explaining to Ills captors exactly what lie thought of them, of their fathers and mothers, their kith and kin, and the supermen were heeding him not in the least, when a thunderbolt seemed to smite them asunder, and Joe was glancing, mildeyed, from one splendid supine form to the other.

‘Hallo, Old Un!’ said he; ‘what’s the matter now, you old book o’ bad language, you?’ Mr Brimberly, somewhat shaken with his late interview, and feeling the need of a stimulant, had just refilled the long glass, when, hearing a rustle behind him, he turned and beheld a tail woman, elderly and angular, especially as to chin and elbows, which last obtruded themselves quite unpleasantly; at least, as he eyed them there was manifest disappx-obation in every hair of his whiskers.

‘Now I wonder,’ he sighed plaintively—‘l. wondered what under the blue expandment of ’oly ’eaven you might be, because if you ’appen to be the washing’

‘l—am—-not!’ . ‘Or the cannybal missions’ ‘No—sech—thing!’

‘Oh!’ said Mr Brimberly, and his gaze wandered to the elbows. ‘Why, then, let me hinform you’— ‘Ann Anclina Trapes is me name.’

‘Why, then, ma’am, you’ve took the wrong turning. ’Owbeit an’ notwithstanding, ’ooever you are an’ nevertheless, you will find the tradespeople’s entrance’— ‘You’re the gentleman as is so obligin’ as to be Mr Ravenslee‘s butler, ain’t you?’ ‘£ich is my perfession,’ Mr Brimberly admitted. ‘I am in sole charge of these premises, an’ so being, will ask you to withdraw ’ence immediate. I will ask’— —

‘An’ I’ll ask you, very p’inted, what you reckon you’re doin’ in that chair?’

‘Doin’ ?’

‘l’ll aslc you, very p’inted, why you’re loafin’ around wastin’ your master’s time’

‘Loafing!’ cried Mr Brimberly, very red in the face. ‘Loaf’

‘I also ask you, very p’inted, wherefore an’ why you loaf, guzzlin’ an’ swillin’ your master’s good liquor?’ ‘Guzzling!’ gasped Mr Brimberly. ‘Oh ’eavens, this is a houtrage, this is! I’ll’

‘lt sure is! An’ so are you, winebibber!’

‘Wine-bib’ Mr Brimberly choked, his round face grew purple, and he flourished pudgy fists; while Mrs Trapes folded her cotton-gloved hands and watched him.

‘Wine-bibber!’ she nodded. ‘An’ the wine you now bib is your master’s; consequently it was stole; an’ bein’ stole, you’re a thief; an’ bein’ a thief

‘Thief!’ gurgled Mr Brimberly. ‘Ha, thief’s a hepithet, thief is, and a hepithet’s haclionable! I’ll have you indented for perjoorious expressions.’ ‘Wine-bibber!’ she sighed. ‘Snake an’ plunderer!’ ‘Never,’ cried Mr Brimberly—‘never in all my days did I ever ’earken to such contoomacious contoomacity! ‘Oo are you, an’ wot’ ‘Hand over that bottle an’ what you’ve left o’ them cigars!’ ‘Woman, begone!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘Woman, if you don’t go hence this very moment, I’ll have you persecuted with the hutmost vigour o’ the law for a incorrigible female!’

’Female!’ repeated Mrs Trapes; and clasping herself in hp.r long, bony arms, she shuddered and smiled, though her eyes glared more stonily and her elbows suggested rapier-points, daggers and other deadly weapons of offence.

‘Female it were, I think?’ she inquired, with another grim and smiling shudder. ‘Now, sir, to you, I sez, debased croocher, I sez; vulgar an’ dishonest loafer, I sez; sly an’ subtle serpent!, I sez—return to the backscullery wherefrom you sprang, lest I seize' you by the hair o’ your cheeks an’ bounce your silly head against the wall—frequent, I sez!’ and very slowly Mi’s Trapes moved towards him. Mr Brimberly hesitated, but before those deadly elbows he blenched, his whiskers wilted all at once, and he retreated backwards. Across the spacious drawing-room, along the hall, and down the stairs he went, his pace ever accelerated, until, in full flight, he reached the sanctuary of his pantry, where, having locked himself securely in, he sank, panting into a chair t 0 mop ids headed brow. ‘My word I’ said Mr Brimberly. (.To be continued next Saturday).