“My eye!” exclaimed Mr. Stevens, gulping his brandy and soda rather hastily.

“Metehoric is the only word for it, sir!” pursued Mr. Brimberly with a slow nod. “’E may drop in on me at any moment, sir!”

“Why, then,” said his guest, rising, “p’r’aps I’d better be moving?”

“On the other ’and,” pursued Mr. Brimberly, smiling and caressing his left whisker, “’e may be on ’is way to Hafghanistan or Hasia Minor at this pre-cise moment—­’e is that metehoric, lord!  These millionaires is much of a muchness, sir, ’ere to-day, gone to-morrer.  Noo York this week, London or Paris the next.  Young Har is always upsetting my plans, ’e is, and that’s a fact, sir!  Me being a nat’rally quiet, reasonable, and law-abiding character, I objects to youthful millionaires on principle, Mr. Stevens, on principle!”

“Ditto!” nodded Mr. Stevens, his glance wandering uneasily to the door again, “ditto with all my ’eart, sir.  If it’s all the same to you, I think p’r’aps I’d better be hopping—­you know—­”

“Oh, don’t you worry about Young Har; ’e won’t bother us to-night; ’e’s off Long Island way to try his newest ’igh-power racing car—­’e’s driving in the Vanderbilt Cup Race next month.  To-night ’e expects to do eighty miles or so, and ’opes to sleep at one of ’is clubs.  I say ’e ‘opes an’ expects so to do!”

“Yes,” nodded Mr. Stevens, “certainly, but what do you mean?”

“Sir,” sighed Mr. Brimberly, “if you’d been forced by stern dooty to sit be’ind Young Har in a fast automobile as I ’ave, you’d know what I mean.  Reckless?  Speed?  Well, there!” and Mr. Brimberly lifted hands and eyes and shook his head until his whiskers vibrated with horror.

“Then you’re pretty sure,” said Mr. Stevens, settling luxurious boots upon a cushioned chair, “you’re pretty sure he won’t come bobbing up when least expected?”

“Pretty sure!” nodded Mr. Brimberly.  “You see, this nooest car is the very latest thing in racing cars—­cost a fortune, consequently it’s bound to break down—­these here expensive cars always do, believe me!”

“Why, then,” said Mr. Stevens, helping himself to one of Mr. Brimberly’s master’s cigars, “I say let joy and ’armony be unconfined!  How about Jenkins and ’is banjer?”

“I’ll call ’im up immediate!” nodded Mr. Brimberly, rising.  “Mr. Jenkins is a true hartist, equally facetious and soulful, sir!”

So saying, Mr. Brimberly arose and crossed toward the telephone.  But scarcely had he taken three steps when he paused suddenly and stood rigid and motionless, his staring gaze fixed upon the nearest window; for from the shadowy world beyond came a sound, faint as yet and far away, but a sound there was no mistaking—­the dismal tooting of an automobile horn.

“‘Eavens an’ earth!” exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, and crossing to the window he peered out.  Once again the horn was heard, but very much nearer now, and louder, whereupon Mr. Brimberly turned, almost hastily, and his visitor rose hurriedly.