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Brimberly coughed and touched a whisker with dubious finger.
"Wasn't you allooding to--hem!--to matrimony, sir?"
"Matrimony! Lord, no! Hardly so desperate a course as that, Brimberly. I
was considering the advisability of--er--this!" And opening a drawer in
the escritoire, Young R. held up a revolver, whereat Mr. Brimberly's
whiskers showed immediate signs of extreme agitation, and he started to
his feet.
"Mr. Ravenslee, sir--for the love o' Gawd!" he exclaimed, "if it's a
choice between the two--try matrimony first, it's so much--so much
wholesomer, sir!"
"Is it, Brimberly? Let me see, there are about five hundred highly
dignified matrons in this--er--great city, wholly eager and anxious
to wed their daughters to my dollars (and incidentally myself) even
if I were the vilest knave or most pitiful piece of doddering
antiquity--faugh! Let's hear no more of matrimony."
"Certingly not, sir!" bowed Mr. Brimberly.
"And I'm neither mad, Brimberly, nor drunk, only--speaking
colloquially--I'm 'on to' myself at last.


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