in again; and now, as he stooped, menial-like, to ply the coal tongs,
though his domelike brow preserved all its wonted serenity, no words
could possibly express all the mute rebellion of those eloquent
whiskers.

"Hanything more, sir?" he enquired, as he rose from his knees.

"Why, yes," said Young R., glancing up at him, and beneath the quizzical
look in those sleepy grey eyes, Mr. Brimberly's whiskers wilted
slightly. "You're getting a trifle too--er--portly to hop round on your
knees, aren't you, Brimberly? Pray sit down and talk to me."

Mr. Brimberly bowed and took a chair, sitting very upright and attentive
while his master frowned into the fire.

"Thirty-five is a ripe age, Brimberly!" said he at last; "a man should
have made something of his life--at thirty-five!"

"Certingly, sir!"

"And I'm getting quite into the sere and yellow leaf, am I not,
Brimberly?"

Mr. Brimberly raised a plump, protesting hand.

"'Ardly that, sir, 'ardly that!" said he, "we are hall of us getting
on, of course--"

"Where to, Brimberly? On where, Brimberly--on what?"