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Brimberly could take it, after which he shed his cap and goggles and
dropped them, drew off his gauntlets and dropped them and, crossing to
his favourite lounge chair, dropped himself into it, and lay there
staring into the fire.
"Ah, Brimberly," he sighed gently, "making a night of it?"
"Why, sir," bowed his butler, "indeed, sir--to tell the truth, sir--"
"You needn't, Brimberly. Excellent cigars you smoke--judging from the
smell. May I have one?"
"Sir," said Brimberly, his whiskers slightly agitated, "cigars, sir?"
"In the cabinet, I think," and Mr. Ravenslee motioned feebly with one
white hand towards the tall, carved cabinet in an adjacent corner.
Mr. Brimberly coughed softly behind plump fingers.
"The--the key, sir?" he suggested.
"Oh, not at all necessary, Brimberly; the lock is faulty, you know."
"Sir?" said Brimberly, soothing a twitching whisker.
"If you are familiar with the life of the Fourteenth Louis, Brimberly,
you will remember that the Grand Monarch hated to be kept waiting--so do
I.


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