“Ah, Brimberly,” nodded his master, “you are not in bed yet—­good!”

“No, sir,” answered Mr. Brimberly, “I’m not in bed yet, sir, but when you rang I was in the very hact, sir—­”

“First of all,” said Young R., selecting a cigar, “let me introduce you to—­er—­my friend, Spike!”

Hereupon Mr. Brimberly rolled his eyes in Spike’s direction, glanced him over, touched either whisker, and bowed—­and lo! those fleecy whiskers were now eloquent of pompous dignity, beholding which Spike shuffled his feet, averted his eyes, and twisted his cap into a very tight ball indeed.

But now Brimberly turned his eyes (and his whiskers) on his master, who had taken out his watch.

“Brimberly,” said he, “it is now very nearly two o’clock.”

“Very late, sir—­oh, very late, sir—­indeed, I was in the very hact of goin’ to bed, sir—­I’d even unbuttoned my waistcoat, sir, when you rang—­two o’clock, sir—­dear me, a most un-’oly hour, sir—­”

“Consequently, Brimberly, I am thinking of taking a little outing—­”

“Certingly, sir—­oh, certingly!”

“And I want some other clothes—­”

“Clothes, sir—­yessir.  There’s the noo ’arris tweed, sir—­”

“With holes in them, if possible, Brimberly.”

“’Oles, sir!  Beg parding, sir, but did you say ’oles, sir?”

“Also patches, Brimberly, the bigger the better!”

“Patches!  Hexcuse me, sir, but—­patches!  I beg parding, but—­” Mr. Brimberly laid a feeble hand upon a twitching whisker.

“In a word, Brimberly,” pursued his master, seating himself upon the escritoire and swinging his leg, “I want some old clothes, shabby clothes—­moth-eaten, stained, battered, and torn.  Also a muffler and an old hat.  Can you find me some?”

“No, sir, I don’t—­that is, yessir, I do.  Hexcuse me, sir—­’arf a moment, sir.”  Saying which, Mr. Brimberly bowed and went from the room with one hand still clutching his whisker very much as though he had taken himself into custody and were leading himself out.

“Say,” exclaimed Spike in a hoarse whisper and edging nearer to Mr. Ravenslee, “who’s His Whiskers—­de swell guy with d’ face trimmings?”

“Why, since you ask, Spike, he is a very worthy person who devotes his life to—­er—­looking after my welfare and—­other things.”

“Holy Gee!” exclaimed Spike, staring, “I should have thought you was big ’nuff to do that fer yourself, unless—­” and here he broke off suddenly and gazed on Mr. Ravenslee’s long figure with a new and more particular interest.

“Unless what?”

“Say—­you ain’t got bats in your belfry, have you—­you ain’t weak in the think-box, or soft in the nut, are ye?”

“No—­at least not more than the average, I believe.”

“I mean His Whiskers don’t have to lead you around on a string or watch out you don’t set fire to yourself, does he?”

“Well, strictly speaking, I can’t say that his duties are quite so far-reaching.”