Scarcely had their hilarious voices died away when a muscular brown hand
parted the hangings of an open window, and Geoffrey Ravenslee climbed
into the room. His rough clothes and shabby hat were powdered with dust,
and he looked very much out of place amid his luxurious surroundings as
he paused to glance swiftly from the bottles that decorated the carved
mantel to those on table and piano. Then, light-treading, he crossed the
room, and as the hilarious three were heard approaching, vanished in his
turn.
"'Ere we are, Jubilee Port!" exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, setting down two
cobwebbed bottles with elaborate care, "obleege me with the corkscrew,
somebody."
"Won't forget as you promised us a song, Brim!" said Mr. Jenkins,
passing the necessary implement.
"Oh, I won't disappoint ye," answered Mr. Brimberly, drawing the cork
with a practised hand; "my father were a regular songster, a fair
carollin' bird 'e were, sir."
"'Ow about 'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road'?" Mr. Stevens suggested.
"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, pausing in the act of filling the
glasses, "that's rather a--a low song, ain't it? What do you think, Mr.
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