The Definite Object Part 79

"Please, I'm Hazel."

"Oh, indeed," nodded Mr. Brimberly, pulling at his waistcoat. "'Azel 'oo, 'Azel what--and say 'sir' next time, if _you_ please."

"Hazel Bowker, sir," and she dropped him a little curtsey, spoiled somewhat by agitation and her crutch.

"Bowker--Bowker?" mused Mr. Brimberly. "I've 'eard the name--I don't like the name, but I've 'eard it."

"My daddy works here, sir," said Hazel timidly.

"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-doin' in that garden? Why are you wandering 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?"

"It's only my Princess n.o.body, sir!"

"Oh, a friend of yours--ha! Persons of that cla.s.s 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 thieving and robbery, and that thieving and robbery leads to prison bars and shackle-chains?"

"Oh, sir, I--I didn't mean--" the little voice was choked with sobs.

"Well, let this be a warning to you to thieve no more, or next time I shall 'ave to become angry. Now--go 'ence!"

Dropping the rose the child turned and hobbled away as fast as her crutch would allow, and Mr. Brimberly, having watched her out of sight, emptied his gla.s.s and took up his cigar, but, finding it had gone out, flung it away. Then he sighed and, sinking back among his cus.h.i.+ons, 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 deeds and crime 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 grasped 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Brimberly awoke gurgling--awoke to catch a glimpse of a hand so hastily withdrawn that it seemed to vanish into thin air.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 and earth!" he gasped, and clapping hand to cheek was relieved to find his whisker yet intact, but for a long moment sat clutching that handful of soft and fleecy hair, staring before him in puzzled wonder, for the hand had seemed so very real 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 banded 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 in a faint voice.

The visitor, settling his bony elbows more comfortably, fanned himself until his spa.r.s.e locks waved gently to and fro, and, nodding, spoke these words:

"Oh, wake thee, oh, wake thee, my bonny bird, Oh, wake and sleep no more; Thy pretty pipe I 'ave n't 'eard, But, lumme, how you snore!"

Mr. Brimberly stared; Mr. Brimberly's mouth opened, and eventually Mr.

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, his eye 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, and go immediate--I'm prehoccupied."

"No, you ain't; you're the butler, you are, I lay my oath--

"'Spoons an' forks An' drawin' corks'

"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, outragious! 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 his eyes.

"I'm the Guv's familiar friend and personal pal, I am. I'm 'is adviser, confeedential, matreemonial, circ.u.mstantial, an' architect'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 fit an' proper for 'is 'oneymoon!"

"My word, this is a mad feller, this is!" murmured Mr. Brimberly, "or else 'e '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, "I repeats as 'e is a narsty, drunken little person!"

"Person?" cried the Old Un, scowling, "why, you peris.h.i.+n'--"

"Old!" said Mr. Brimberly, "'old, I beg! Enough 'as been said--go 'ence!

'Oo you are I do not know, wot you are I do not care, but in these regions you do not remain; your langwidge forbids and--"

"Langwidge?" snorted the Old Un. "Why, I ain't begun yet, you blinkin', fat-faced, owl-eyed piece o' sooet--"

"Your speech, sir," continued Mr. Brimberly with calm austerity and making the most of whiskers and waistcoat, "your speech is redolent of slums and back halleys. I don't know you. I don't want to know you! You are a feller! Go away, feller!"

"Feller?" snarled the Old Un, "why you--"

"I repeat," said Mr. Brimberly with dignified deliberation, "I repeat as you are a very low, vulgar little feller!"

The Old Un clenched his fists.