“Who are you, anyway?”

“Well, my names are Geoffrey, Guy, Eustace, Hughson-and—­er—­a few others, but these will do to go on with, perhaps?”

“Well, I guess yes!”

“You can take your choice.”

“Well, Guy won’t do—­no siree—­ye see every mutt’s a guy down our way—­so I guess we’ll make it Geoff.  But, say, if you ain’t weak on the think-machinery, why d’ ye keep a guy like His Whiskers hanging around?”

“Because he has become a habit, Spike—­and habits cling—­and speaking of habits—­here it is!” Sure enough, at that moment Brimberly’s knuckles made themselves discreetly heard, and Brimberly himself appeared with divers garments across his arm, at sight of which Spike stood immediately dumb in staring, awe-struck wonder.

“Ah, you’ve got them, Brimberly?”

“Yessir!  These is the best I can do, sir—­”

“Say rather—­the worst!”

“’Ere’s a nice, big ’ole in the coat, sir,” said Mr. Brimberly, unfolding the garment in question, “and the weskit, sir; the pocket is tore, you’ll notice, sir.”

“Excellent, Brimberly!”

“As for these trousis, sir—­”

“They seem rather superior garments, I’m afraid!” said Mr. Ravenslee, shaking his head.

“But you’ll notice as they’re very much wore round the ’eels, sir.”

“They’ll do.  Now the hat and muffler.”

“All ’ere, sir—­the ’at’s got its brim broke, sir.”

“Couldn’t be better, Brimberly!” So saying, Mr. Ravenslee took up the clothes and turned toward the door.  “Now I’ll trouble you to keep an eye on—­er—­young America here while I get into these.”

“Sir,” said Mr. Brimberly, turning his whiskers full upon Spike, who immediately fell to shuffling and wringing at his cap.  “Sir—­I will, certingly, sir.”

Now when the door had shut after his master, Mr. Brimberly raised eyes and hands to the ceiling and shook his head until his whiskers quivered.  Quoth he:  “Hall I arsks is—­wot next!” Thereafter he lowered his eyes and regarded Spike as if he had been that basest of base minions—­a boy in buttons.  At last he deigned speech.

“And w’en did you come in, pray?”

“’Bout a hour ago, sir,” answered Spike, dropping his cap in his embarrassment.

“Ah!” nodded Mr. Brimberly, “about a hour ago—­ho!  By appointment, I pre-zoom?”

“No, sir—­by a winder.”

“A—­wot?”

“A winder, sir.”

“A—­winder?  ’Eavens and earth—­a winder—­ow?  Where?  Wot for?”

“Say, mister,” said Spike, breaking in upon Mr. Brimberly’s astounded questioning, “is he nutty?” And he jerked his thumb toward the door through which Mr. Ravenslee had gone.

“Nutty!” said Mr. Brimberly, staring.

“Yes—­I mean is he batty?  Has he got wheels?”

“W’eels?” said Mr. Brimberly, his eyes rounder than usual.

“Well, then, is he daffy?—­off his trolley?”