THE WOES OF MR. BRIMBERLY
Mr. Brimberly, having dined well as was his custom, lay at his ease
in a luxurious lounge chair in the shade of the piazza; the day was hot,
wherefore on a table at his elbow was a syphon, a bottle, and a long
glass in which ice tinkled alluringly; between his plump fingers was a
large cigar and across his plump knees was an open paper over which he
yawned and puffed and sipped in turn. Nevertheless Mr. Brimberly was
bored and dropping the paper, languidly cherished a languorous whisker,
staring dull-eyed across stately terraces and wide, neat lawns to where,
beyond winding yew walks and noble trees, the distant river flowed.
Presently as he sat he was aware of a small girl in a white pinafore
approaching along one of these walks--a small being who hopped along by
means of a little crutch and sang to herself in a soft, happy voice.
Mr. Brimberly blinked.
Heedless of the eyes that watched her, the child turned into the rose
garden, pausing now and then to inhale the scent of some great bloom
that filled the air with its sweetness.
Mr. Brimberly sat up, for he permitted few to enter the rose garden.
All at once the child, singing still, reached up and broke off a great
scarlet bloom.
Mr. Brimberly arose.
"Little girl!" he called, in voice round and sonorous, "little girl,
come you 'ere and come immediate!"
The child started, turned, and after a moment's hesitation hobbled
forward, her little face as white as her pinafore. At the foot of the
broad steps leading up to the piazza she paused, looking up at him with
great, pleading eyes.
Mr. Brimberly beckoned with portentous finger.
"Little girl, come 'ere!" he repeated. "Come up 'ere and come immediate!"
The small crutch tapped laboriously up the steps, and she stood before
Mr. Brimberly's imposing figure mute, breathless, and trembling a
little.
"Little girl," he demanded, threatening of whisker, "'oo are you
and--what?"
"Please, I'm Hazel."
"Oh, indeed," nodded Mr. Brimberly, pulling at his waistcoat. "'Azel
'oo, 'Azel what--and say 'sir' next time, if _you_ please."
"Hazel Bowker, sir," and she dropped him a little curtsey, spoiled
somewhat by agitation and her crutch.
"Bowker--Bowker?" mused Mr. Brimberly. "I've 'eard the name--I don't
like the name, but I've 'eard it."
"My daddy works here, sir," said Hazel timidly.
"Bowker--Bowker!" repeated Mr. Brimberly. "Ah, to be sure--one of the
hunder gardeners as I put on three or four weeks ago."
"Yes, please, sir."
"Little girl, what are you a-doin' in that garden? Why are you wandering
in the vicinity of this mansion?"
"Please, I'm looking for Hermy."
"'Ermy?" repeated Mr. Brimberly, "'Ermy? Wot kind of creater may that
be? Is it a dog? Is it a cat? Wot is it?"
"It's only my Princess Nobody, sir!"
"Oh, a friend of yours--ha! Persons of that class do not pervade these
regions! And wot do I be'old grasped in your 'and?"
Hazel looked down at the rose she held and trembled anew.
"Little girl--wot is it?" demanded the inexorable voice.
"A rose, sir."
"Was it--your rose?"
"N-no, sir."
"Don't you know as it's a wicked hact to take what ain't yours? Don't
you know as it's thieving and robbery, and that thieving and robbery
leads to prison bars and shackle-chains?"
"Oh, sir, I--I didn't mean--" the little voice was choked with sobs.
"Well, let this be a warning to you to thieve no more, or next time I
shall 'ave to become angry. Now--go 'ence!"
Dropping the rose the child turned and hobbled away as fast as her
crutch would allow, and Mr. Brimberly, having watched her out of sight,
emptied his glass and took up his cigar, but, finding it had gone out,
flung it away. Then he sighed and, sinking back among his cushions,
closed his eyes, and was soon snoring blissfully.
But by and by Mr. Brimberly began to dream, a very evil dream wherein it
seemed that for many desperate deeds and crime abominable he was chained
and shackled in a dock, and the judge, donning the black cap, sentenced
him to be shorn of those adornments, his whiskers. In his dream it
seemed that there and then the executioner advanced to his fell work--a
bony hand grasped his right whisker, the deadly razor flashed, and Mr.
Brimberly awoke gurgling--awoke to catch a glimpse of a hand so hastily
withdrawn that it seemed to vanish into thin air.
"'Eavens and earth!" he gasped, and clapping hand to cheek was relieved
to find his whisker yet intact, but for a long moment sat clutching that
handful of soft and fleecy hair, staring before him in puzzled wonder,
for the hand had seemed so very real he could almost feel it there yet.
Presently, bethinking him to glance over his shoulder, Mr. Brimberly
gasped and goggled, for leaning over the back of his chair was a little,
old man, very slender, very upright, and very smart as to attire, who
fanned himself with a jaunty straw hat banded in vivid crimson; an old
man whose bright, youthful eyes looked out from a face wizened with age,
while up from his bald crown rose a few wisps of white and straggling
hair.
"'Oly 'eavens!" murmured Mr. Brimberly in a faint voice.
The visitor, settling his bony elbows more comfortably, fanned himself
until his sparse locks waved gently to and fro, and, nodding, spoke
these words:
"Oh, wake thee, oh, wake thee, my bonny bird,
Oh, wake and sleep no more;
Thy pretty pipe I 'ave n't 'eard,
But, lumme, how you snore!"
Mr. Brimberly stared; Mr. Brimberly's mouth opened, and eventually Mr.
Brimberly rose and surveyed the intruder slowly, up from glittering
shoes to the dome of his head and down again; and Mr. Brimberly's ample
bosom surged, his eye kindled, and his whiskers--!
"Cheer-o!" nodded the Old Un.
Mr. Brimberly blinked and pulled down his waistcoat.
"Me good man," said he, "you'll find the tradesmen's entrance round the
corner. Go away, if you please, and go immediate--I'm prehoccupied."
"No, you ain't; you're the butler, you are, I lay my oath--
"'Spoons an' forks
An' drawin' corks'
"that's your job, ain't it, chum?"
"Chum!" said Mr. Brimberly in tones of horror. "Chum!" he repeated,
grasping a handful of indignant whisker. "Oh, outragious! Oh, very
hobscene! 'Ow dare you, sir? 'Oo are you, sir, eh, sir--answer me, an'
answer--prompt!"
"Leave them cobwebs alone, an' I'll tell you, matey."
"Matey!" groaned Mr. Brimberly, turning up his eyes.
"I'm the Guv's familiar friend and personal pal, I am. I'm 'is
adviser, confeedential, matreemonial, circumstantial, an' architect'ral.
I'm 'is trainer, advance agent, manager, an' sparrin' partner--that's
who I am. An' now, mate, 'avin' 'elped to marry 'im, I've jest took a
run down 'ere to see as all things is fit an' proper for 'is 'oneymoon!"
"My word, this is a mad feller, this is!" murmured Mr. Brimberly, "or
else 'e 's drunk!"
"Drunk?" exclaimed the Old Un, clapping on his hat very much over one
eye and glaring, "wot--me?"
"I repeat," said Mr. Brimberly, addressing the universe in general, "I
repeats as 'e is a narsty, drunken little person!"
"Person?" cried the Old Un, scowling, "why, you perishin'--"
"Old!" said Mr. Brimberly, "'old, I beg! Enough 'as been said--go 'ence!
'Oo you are I do not know, wot you are I do not care, but in these
regions you do not remain; your langwidge forbids and--"
"Langwidge?" snorted the Old Un. "Why, I ain't begun yet, you blinkin',
fat-faced, owl-eyed piece o' sooet--"
"Your speech, sir," continued Mr. Brimberly with calm austerity and
making the most of whiskers and waistcoat, "your speech is redolent of
slums and back halleys. I don't know you. I don't want to know you! You
are a feller! Go away, feller!"
"Feller?" snarled the Old Un, "why you--"
"I repeat," said Mr. Brimberly with dignified deliberation, "I repeat as
you are a very low, vulgar little feller!"
The Old Un clenched his fists.
"Right-o!" he nodded cheerily. "That's done it! F' that I'm a-goin' t'
punch ye in th' perishin' eye-'ole!" And he advanced upon the points of
his toes, shoulders hunched, and head viciously outthrust.
"My word!" exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, retreating rather precipitately,
"this is very discomposing, this is! I shall have to call the perlice."
"Perlice!" snarled the Old Un, fiercer than ever, "you won't have
nothing t' call with when I've done wi' ye. I'm goin' t' jab ye on th'
beak t' begin with, then I'll 'ook my left t' your kidneys an' swing my
right to your p'int an' crumple ye up with a jolt on your perishin'
solar plexus as 'll stiffen you till th' day o' doom!"
"'Oly angels!" murmured Mr. Brimberly, glancing hastily about.
"Then while you lay bathed in 'orrible gore, I'm goin' t' twist them
whiskers into a 'angman's knot!"
"This is most distressing!" sighed Mr. Brimberly.
"Then," continued the Old Un, grinding his remaining teeth, "I'm
a-goin' t' tread your face in an' dance on y'r blighted stummick. Arter
that--"
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, retreating before the oncoming
peril and mopping perspiring brow. But suddenly his wandering eye was
arrested by velvet and gold braid, and lifting up his voice he called:
"William! James! Come 'ere--and come sharp!"
Two vast and splendid shapes loomed upon the scene, supermen whose
silken calves quivered with unaccustomed haste; at a sign from Mr.
Brimberly they seized upon the Old Un and, despite ghoulish threats,
solemnly bore him off.
Down the broad sweep of drive they went, the Old Un pouring forth fluent
curses with every step, until they came to a powerful automobile from
beneath which a pair of neatly gaitered legs protruded.
"Joe!" cried the Old Un, apostrophising these legs, "Joe, stop bein' a
crawlin' worm--come out an' bash these perishers for me, like a good
lad!" But even while he spoke, the footmen hauled him along, so that
when Joe eventually wriggled from under the car the three were close
against the great gates.
The Old Un was earnestly explaining to his captors exactly what he
thought of them, of their fathers and mothers, their kith and kin, and
the supermen were heeding him not the least, when a thunderbolt seemed
to smite them asunder, and Joe was glancing mild-eyed from one
splendid, supine form to the other.
"Hullo, Old Un!" said he, "what's the matter now, you old book o' bad
language, you?"
But Mr. Brimberly, somewhat shaken with his late interview and feeling
the need of a stimulant, had just refilled the long glass when, hearing
a rustle behind him, he turned and beheld a tall woman, elderly and
angular, especially as to chin and elbows, which last obtruded
themselves quite unpleasantly; at least, as he eyed them there was
manifest disapprobation in every hair of his whiskers.
"Now I wonder," he sighed plaintively, "I wonder what under the blue
expandment of 'oly 'eaven you might be, because if you 'appen to be the
washing--"
"I--am--not!"
"Or the cannybal missions--"
"No--sech--thing!"
"Oh!" said Mr. Brimberly, and his gaze wandered to the elbows. "Why,
then, let me hinform you--"
"Ann Angelina Trapes is me name."
"Why then, ma'am, you've took the wrong turning. 'Owbeit an'
notwithstanding, 'ooever you are and nevertheless, you will find the
tradespeople's entra--"
"You're the gentleman as is so obligin' as to be Mr. Ravenslee's
butler, ain't you?"
"Sich is my perfession," Mr. Brimberly admitted. "I am in sole charge of
these premises and so being will ask you to withdraw 'ence immediate. I
will ask--"
"An' I'll ask you, very p'inted, what you reckon you're doin' in that
chair?"
"Doing?"
"I'll ask you, very p'inted, why you're loafin' around wastin' your
master's time?"
"Loafing?" cried Mr. Brimberly, very red in the face. "Loaf--"
"I also ask you, very p'inted, wherefore an' why you loaf, guzzlin' an'
swillin' your master's good liquor?"
"Guzzling!" gasped Mr. Brimberly. "Oh, 'eavens, this is a outrage, this
is! I'll--"
"It sure is! An' so are you, winebibber!"
"Winebib--" Mr. Brimberly choked, his round face grew purple, and he
flourished pudgy fists while Mrs. Trapes folded her cotton-gloved hands
and watched him.
"Winebibber!" she nodded. "An' the wine as you now bib is your master's,
consequently it was stole, an' bein' stole you're a thief, an' bein' a
thief--"
"Thief!" gurgled Mr. Brimberly. "Ha, thief's a hepithet, thief is, and a
hepithet 's hactionable! I'll 'ave you indented for perjoorious
expressions--"
"Winebibber!" she sighed. "Snake an' plunderer!"
"Never," cried Mr. Brimberly, "never in all my days did I ever 'earken
to such contoomacious contoomacity! 'Oo are you an' wot--"
"Hand over that bottle and what you've left o' them cigars!"
"Woman, begone!" he cried hoarsely. "Woman, if you don't go 'ence this
very moment, I'll have you persecuted with the hutmost vigour o' the
law for a incorrigible--female!"
"Female!" repeated Mrs. Trapes; and clasping herself in her long, bony
arms she shuddered and smiled, though her eyes glared more stonily, and
her elbows suggested rapier points, daggers, and other deadly weapons of
offence.
"Female it were, I think?" she enquired with another grim and smiling
shudder. "Now, sir, to you I sez, debased creecher, I sez, vulgar an'
dishonest loafer, I sez, sly an' subtle serpent, I sez, return to the
back scullery wherefrom you sprang lest I seize you by the hair of your
cheeks an' bounce your silly head against the wall--frequent, I sez!"
and very slowly, Mrs. Trapes moved toward him.
Mr. Brimberly hesitated, but before those deadly elbows he blenched, his
whiskers wilted all at once, and he retreated backwards; across the
spacious drawing room, along the hall and down the stairs he went, his
pace ever accelerating, until, in full flight, he reached the sanctuary
of his pantry, where, having locked himself securely in, he sank panting
into a chair to mop beaded brow.
"My word!" said Mr. Brimberly.