OF HARMONY AND DISCORD
Mr. Brimberly, comfortably ensconced in Young R.'s favourite armchair,
nodded ponderously and beat time to the twang of Mr. Jenkins's banjo,
whereto Mr. Stevens sang in a high-pitched and rather shaky tenor the
latest musical success yclept "Sammy." Thus, Mr. Jenkins strummed, Mr.
Stevens trilled, and Mr. Brimberly alternately beat the tempo with a
plump white finger and sipped his master's champagne until, having
emptied his glass, he turned to the bottle on the table beside him,
found that empty also, crossed to the two bottles on the mantel, found
them likewise void and had tried the two upon the piano with no better
success, when, the song being ended, Mr. Jenkins struck in with:
"All dead men, Brim! Six of 'em between us--not bad going, what?"
"And very good fizz too, on the whole!" added Mr. Stevens. "I always
sing better on champagne. But come, Brim my boy, I've obliged with
everything I know, and Jenk, 'e 's played everything 'e knows, and
I must say with great delicacy an' feelin'--now it's your
turn--somethin'."
"Well," answered Mr. Brimberly, squinting at an empty bottle, "I used to
know a very good song once, called 'Let's drownd all our sorrers and
cares.' But good 'eavens! we can't drownd 'em in empty bottles, can we?"
"Oh, very good!" chuckled Mr. Jenkins, "oh, very prime! If I might
suggest, there's nothin' like port--port's excellent tipple for
drowndin' sorrer and downing care--what?"
"Port, sir?" repeated Mr. Brimberly, "we 'ave enough port in our
cellars to drownd every sorrer an' care in Noo York City. I'm proud of
our port, sir, and I'm reckoned a bit of a connysoor--"
"Ah, it takes a eddicated palate to appreciate good port!" nodded Mr.
Jenkins loftily, "a eddicated palate--what?"
"Cert'nly!" added Mr. Stevens, "an' here's two palates waitin', waitin'
an' ready to appreciate till daylight doth appear."
"There's nothin' like port!" sighed Mr. Brimberly, setting aside the
empty champagne bottle, "nothin' like port, and there's Young Har 'ardly
can tell it from sherry--oh, the Goth! the Vandyle! All this good stuff
would be layin' idle if it wasn't for me! Young Har ain't got no right
to be a millionaire; 'is money's wasted on 'im--he neglects 'is
opportoonities shameful--eh, shameful! What I say is--what's the use
of bein' a millionaire if you don't air your millions?"
Hereupon Mr. Jenkins rocked himself to and fro over his banjo in a
polite ecstasy of mirth.
"Oh, by Jove!" he gasped, "if that ain't infernal clever, I'll be shot!
Oh, doocid clever I call it--what!"
"Er--by the way, Brim," said Mr. Stevens, his glance roving toward the
open window, "where does he happen to be to-night?"
"Where?" repeated Mr. Brimberly, fingering a slightly agitated whisker,
"where is Young Har, sir? Lord, Mr. Stevens, if you ask me that, I
throws up my 'ands, and I answers you--'eavens knows! Young Har is a
unknown quantity, sir--a will o' the wisp, or as you might say, a ignus
fattus. At this pre-cise moment 'e may be in Jerusalem or Jericho
or--a-sittin' outside on the lawn--which Gawd forbid! But there, don't
let's talk of it. Come on down into the cellars, and we'll bring up
enough port to drownd sorrer an' care all night."
"With all my heart!" said Mr. Jenkins, laying aside his banjo.
"Ditto, indeed!" nodded Mr. Stevens, slipping a hand in his host's arm,
and thus linked together they made their way out of the room.
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.
Jenkins?"
"Low?" answered Mr. Jenkins, "it's as low as--as mud, sir. I might say
it's infernal vulgar--what?"
"Why, I don't care for it myself," Mr. Stevens admitted rather humbly,
"it was merely a suggestion."
"With your good favour," said Mr. Brimberly, after a tentative sip at
his glass, "I'll sing you a old song as was a rare favourite of my
father's."
"Why, then," said Mr. Jenkins, taking up his banjo, "oblige us with the
key."
"The key, sir?" answered Mr. Brimberly, pulling down his waistcoat,
"what key might you mean?"
"The key of the note dominant, Brim."
Mr. Brimberly stared and felt for his whisker.
"Note dominant," he murmured; "I don't think my song has anything of
that sort--"
"Oh, well, just whistle a couple o' bars."
"Bars," said Mr. Brimberly, shaking his head, "bars, sir, is things
wherewith I do not 'old; bars are the 'aunt of the 'umble 'erd, sir--"
"No, no, Brim," explained Mr. Stevens, "Jenk merely means you to 'um the
air."
"Ah, to be sure, now I appre'end! I'll 'um you the hair with pleasure."
Mr. Brimberly cleared his throat vigorously and thereafter emitted
certain rumbling noises, whereat Mr. Jenkins cocked a knowing head.
"C sharp, I think?" he announced.
"Not much, Jenk!" said Mr. Stevens decidedly, "it was D flat--as flat a
D as ever I heard!"
"It was C!" Mr. Jenkins said, "I appeal to Brim."
"Well," said Mr. Brimberly ponderously, "I'm reether inclined to think I
made it a D--if it wasn't D it was F nat'ral. But if it's all the same
to you, I'll accompany myself at the piano-forty."
"What," exclaimed Mr. Stevens, emptying and refilling his glass, seeing
which Mr. Jenkins did the same, "what--do you play, Brim?"
"By hear, sir--only by hear," said Mr. Brimberly modestly, as, having
placed bottle and glass upon the piano within convenient reach, he
seated himself upon the stool, struck three or four stumbling chords and
then, vamping an accompaniment a trifle monotonous as to bass, burst
forth into song:
"It was a rich merchant that in London did dwell,
He had but one daughter, a beautiful gell,
Which her name it was Dinah, scarce sixteen years old,
She'd a very large fortune in silver and gold."
Chorus:
"Ri tooral ri tooral ri tooral i-day,
Ri tooral ri tooral ri tooral i-day."
It was now that Mr. Ravenslee, his rough clothes replaced by immaculate
attire, entered unostentatiously, and, wholly unobserved by the company,
seated himself and lounged there while Mr. Brimberly sang blithely on:
"As Dinah was a-walking in her garden one day,
Her father came to her and thus he did say:
'Come wed yourself, Dinah, to your nearest of kin,
Or you shan't have the benefit of one single pin!'"
"Ri tooral ri too--"
Here Mr. Jenkins, chancing to catch sight of that unobtrusive figure,
let fall his banjo with a clatter, whereupon Mr. Brimberly glancing
around, stopped short in the middle of a note, and sat open-mouthed,
staring at his master.
"Enjoying a musical evening, Brimberly?"
Mr. Brimberly blundered to his feet, choked, gasped, groped for his
whiskers, and finally spoke:
"Why, sir, I--I'm afraid I--we are--"
"I didn't know you were such an accomplished musician, Brimberly."
"Mu-musician, sir?" Brimberly stammered, his eyes goggling; "'ardly
that, sir, oh, 'ardly that, I--I venture to--to tinkle a bit now an'
then, sir--no offence I 'ope, sir?"
"Friends musical too, it seems."
"Y-yes, sir, music do affect 'em, sir--uncommonly, sir."
"Yes, makes them thirsty, doesn't it?"
"Why, Mr. Ravenslee, sir, I--that is, we did so far venture to--er--I
mean--oh, Lord!" and mopping perspiring brow, Mr. Brimberly groaned and
goggled helplessly from Mr. Jenkins who stood fumbling with his banjo to
Mr. Stevens who gaped fishlike.
"And now," said Young R., having viewed them each in turn, "if
these--er--very thirsty musicians have had enough of--er--my wine
to--er--drink, perhaps you'll be so obliging as to see them--off the
premises?"
"I--I beg parding, sir?"
"Please escort your friends off the premises."
"Certingly, sir--at once, sir--"
"Unless you think you ought to give them each a handful of my cigars--"
But Mr. Brimberly had already bundled his dazed guests to the door, out
of the door, and out of the house, with very little ceremony.
It was a very deferential and officiously eager Brimberly who presently
knocked and, bowing very frequently, begged to know how he might be of
further service.
"Might I get you a little supper, sir? We 'ave 'am, sir, we 'ave beef,
cold, salmon and cucumber likewise cold, a ditto chicken--"
"That sounds rather a quaint bird," said Ravenslee.
"Yes, sir, very good, sir, chicken an' a nice slice of 'am, sir, say,
and--"
"Thank you, Brimberly, I dined late."
"Why then, sir, a sandwich or so, pray permit me, sir, cut nice an'
thin, sir--"
"Thank you--no."
"Dear, dear! Why then, sir, whisky? Brandy? A lick-your?"
"Nothing."
"A cigar, sir?"
"Hum! Have we any of the Garcias left?"
"Y-yes, sir. Ho, certingly, sir. Shall I--"
"Don't bother, I prefer my pipe; only let me know when we get short,
Brimberly, and we'll order more--or perhaps you have a favourite brand?"
"Brand, sir," murmured Brimberly, "a--er--certingly, sir."
"Good night, Brimberly."
"Good night, sir, but first can't I do--hanything?"
"Oh, yes, you do me, of course. You do me so consistently and well that
I really ought to raise your wages. I'll think about it."
Mr. Brimberly stared, coughed, and fumbled for his whisker, whence his
hand wandered to his brow and hovered there.
"I--I bid you good night, sir!"
"Oh, by the way, bring me the letters."
"Certingly, sir!" and crossing the room, Mr. Brimberly returned, bearing
a salver piled high with letters, which he set at his master's elbow;
this done, he bowed and went from the room, one hand still at his dazed
brow.
Left alone, Ravenslee took up the letters one by one. Some he threw
aside, some few he opened and glanced at carelessly; among these last
was a telegram, and the words he saw were these:
"Meet me to-morrow sunset in the wood all shall be explained Hermy."
For a while he sat staring at this, then, laying it by, drew out a
letter case from which he took another telegram bearing precisely the
same message. Having compared them, he thrust them into his pocket, and
filling his pipe, sat awhile smoking and lost in thought. At last, his
pipe being out, he rose, stretched, and turned toward the door, but in
the act of leaving the room, paused to take out and compare the
telegrams again and so stood with puckered brow.
"'Hermy!'" he said softly. "'Hermione' is so much prettier. 'All shall
be explained.' A little trite, perhaps! Oh, well--" So saying, he folded
up the telegrams, switched off the lights and went to bed.