"What?" exclaimed the boy, his eyes suspiciously bright, "d' you mean you will shake—after—after what I—"
"There's my hand, Spike!" So their hands met and gripped, the boy's hot and eagerly tremulous, the man's cool and steady and strong; then of a sudden Spike choked and turning his back brushed away his tears with his cap. Also at this moment, with a soft and discreet knock, Mr. Brimberly opened the door and bowed himself into the room; his attitude was deferential as always, his smile as respectful, but, beholding Spike, his round eyes grew rounder and his whiskers slightly bristly.
"Ah, Brimberly," nodded his master, "you are not in bed yet—good!"
"No, sir," answered Mr. Brimberly, "I'm not in bed yet, sir, but when you rang I was in the very hact, sir—"
"First of all," said Young R., selecting a cigar, "let me introduce you to—er—my friend, Spike!"
Hereupon Mr. Brimberly rolled his eyes in Spike's direction, glanced him over, touched either whisker, and bowed—and lo! those fleecy whiskers were now eloquent of pompous dignity, beholding which Spike shuffled his feet, averted his eyes, and twisted his cap into a very tight ball indeed.
But now Brimberly turned his eyes (and his whiskers) on his master, who had taken out his watch.
"Brimberly," said he, "it is now very nearly two o'clock."
"Very late, sir—oh, very late, sir—indeed, I was in the very hact of goin' to bed, sir—I'd even unbuttoned my waistcoat, sir, when you rang—two o'clock, sir—dear me, a most un-'oly hour, sir—"
"Consequently, Brimberly, I am thinking of taking a little outing—"
"Certingly, sir—oh, certingly!"
"And I want some other clothes—"
"Clothes, sir—yessir. There's the noo 'arris tweed, sir—"
"With holes in them, if possible, Brimberly."
"'Oles, sir! Beg parding, sir, but did you say 'oles, sir?"
"Also patches, Brimberly, the bigger the better!"
"Patches! Hexcuse me, sir, but—patches! I beg parding, but—" Mr. Brimberly laid a feeble hand upon a twitching whisker.
"In a word, Brimberly," pursued his master, seating himself upon the escritoire and swinging his leg, "I want some old clothes, shabby clothes—moth-eaten, stained, battered, and torn. Also a muffler and an old hat. Can you find me some?"
"No, sir, I don't—that is, yessir, I do. Hexcuse me, sir—'arf a moment, sir." Saying which, Mr. Brimberly bowed and went from the room with one hand still clutching his whisker very much as though he had taken himself into custody and were leading himself out.
"Say," exclaimed Spike in a hoarse whisper and edging nearer to Mr. Ravenslee, "who's His Whiskers—de swell guy with d' face trimmings?"
"Why, since you ask, Spike, he is a very worthy person who devotes his life to—er—looking after my welfare and—other things."
"Holy Gee!" exclaimed Spike, staring, "I should have thought you was big 'nuff to do that fer yourself, unless—" and here he broke off suddenly and gazed on Mr. Ravenslee's long figure with a new and more particular interest.
"Unless what?"
"Say—you ain't got bats in your belfry, have you—you ain't weak in the think-box, or soft in the nut, are ye?"
"No—at least not more than the average, I believe."
"I mean His Whiskers don't have to lead you around on a string or watch out you don't set fire to yourself, does he?"
"Well, strictly speaking, I can't say that his duties are quite so far-reaching."
"Who are you, anyway?"
"Well, my names are Geoffrey, Guy, Eustace, Hughson-and—er—a few others, but these will do to go on with, perhaps?"
"Well, I guess yes!"
"You can take your choice."
"Well, Guy won't do—no siree—ye see every mutt's a guy down our way—so I guess we'll make it Geoff. But, say, if you ain't weak on the think-machinery, why d' ye keep a guy like His Whiskers hanging around?"
"Because he has become a habit, Spike—and habits cling—and speaking of habits—here it is!" Sure enough, at that moment Brimberly's knuckles made themselves discreetly heard, and Brimberly himself appeared with divers garments across his arm, at sight of which Spike stood immediately dumb in staring, awe-struck wonder.
"Ah, you've got them, Brimberly?"
"Yessir! These is the best I can do, sir—"
"Say rather—the worst!"
"'Ere's a nice, big 'ole in the coat, sir," said Mr. Brimberly, unfolding the garment in question, "and the weskit, sir; the pocket is tore, you'll notice, sir."
"Excellent, Brimberly!"
"As for these trousis, sir—"
"They seem rather superior garments, I'm afraid!" said Mr. Ravenslee, shaking his head.
"But you'll notice as they're very much wore round the 'eels, sir."
"They'll do. Now the hat and muffler."
"All 'ere, sir—the 'at's got its brim broke, sir."
"Couldn't be better, Brimberly!" So saying, Mr. Ravenslee took up the clothes and turned toward the door. "Now I'll trouble you to keep an eye on—er—young America here while I get into these."
"Sir," said Mr. Brimberly, turning his whiskers full upon Spike, who immediately fell to shuffling and wringing at his cap. "Sir—I will, certingly, sir."
Now when the door had shut after his master, Mr. Brimberly raised eyes and hands to the ceiling and shook his head until his whiskers quivered. Quoth he: "Hall I arsks is—wot next!" Thereafter he lowered his eyes and regarded Spike as if he had been that basest of base minions—a boy in buttons. At last he deigned speech.
"And w'en did you come in, pray?"
"'Bout a hour ago, sir," answered Spike, dropping his cap in his embarrassment.
"Ah!" nodded Mr. Brimberly, "about a hour ago—ho! By appointment, I pre-zoom?"
"No, sir—by a winder."
"A—wot?"
"A winder, sir."
"A—winder? 'Eavens and earth—a winder—ow? Where? Wot for?"
"Say, mister," said Spike, breaking in upon Mr. Brimberly's astounded questioning, "is he nutty?" And he jerked his thumb toward the door through which Mr. Ravenslee had gone.
"Nutty!" said Mr. Brimberly, staring.
"Yes—I mean is he batty? Has he got wheels?"
"W'eels?" said Mr. Brimberly, his eyes rounder than usual.
"Well, then, is he daffy?—off his trolley?"
"Off 'is wot?" said Mr. Brimberly, fumbling for his whisker.
"Holy Gee!" exclaimed Spike, "can't you understand English? Say, is your brother as smart as you?"
"The honly brother as ever I 'ad was a infant as died and—but wot was you saying about a winder?"
"Nothin'!"
"Come, speak up, you young vagabone—" began Mr. Brimberly, his whiskers suddenly fierce and threatening, but just then, fortunately for Spike, the door swung, open, and Mr. Ravenslee entered.
And lo! what a change was here! The battered hat, the faded muffler and shabby clothes seemed only to show off all the hitherto hidden strength and vigour of the powerful limbs