Brimberly ponderously, "what ''e' might you be pleased
to mean?"
"I was merely allooding to--to your governor, sir."
Mr. Brimberly glanced at his guest, set down the glass he was in the act
of filling and--pulled down his waistcoat for the second time.
"Sir," said he, and his cherubic whiskers seemed positively to quiver,
"I presoom--I say, I presoom you are referring to--Young Har?"
"I meant Mr. Ravenslee."
"Then may I beg that you'll allood to him 'enceforth as Young Har? This
is Young Har's own room, sir. These is Young Har's own picters, sir.
When Young Har is absent, I generally sit 'ere with me cigar and observe
said picters. I'm fond of hart, sir; I find hart soothing and restful.
The picters surrounding of you are all painted by Young Har's very own
'and--subjeks various. Number one--a windmill very much out o' repair,
but that's hart, sir. Number two--a lady dressed in what I might term
dish-a-bell, sir, and there isn't much of it, but that's hart again.
Number three--a sunset. Number four--moonlight; 'e didn't get the moon
in the picter but the light's there and that's the great thing--effect,
sir, effect! Of course, being only studies, they don't look
finished--which is the most hartisticest part about 'em! But, lord!
Young Har never finishes anything--too tired! 'Ang me, sir, if I don't
think 'e were born tired! But then, 'oo ever knew a haristocrat as
wasn't?"
"But," demurred Mr.
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