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"To-day is my birthday, Brimberly, and to-night I've reached a kind of
'jumping off' place in my life, and--between you and me--I'm seriously
thinking of--er--jumping off!"
"I crave parding, sir?"
"I'm thirty-five years old," continued Young R., his frown growing
blacker, "and I've never done anything really worth while in all my
useless life! Have the goodness to look at me, will you?"
"With pleasure, sir!"
"Well, what do I look like?"
"The very hacme of a gentleman, sir!"
"Kind of you, Brimberly, but I know myself for an absolutely useless
thing--a purposeless, ambitionless wretch, drifting on to God knows
what. I'm a hopeless wreck, a moral derelict, and it has only occurred
to me to-night--but"--and here the speaker paused to flick the ash from
his cigar--"I fear I'm boring you?"
"No, sir--ho, no, not at all, indeed, sir!"
"You're very kind, Brimberly--light a cigarette! Ah, no, pardon me, you
prefer my cigars, I know."
"Why--why, sir--" stammered Mr. Brimberly, laying a soothing hand upon
his twitching whisker, "indeed, I--I--"
"Oh--help yourself, pray!"
Hereupon Mr.


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