"Ah, yes," nodded Young R., "I do possess some shanties and things over
there, don't I, Brimberly?"

"Shanties, sir!" Mr. Brimberly blinked, and his whiskers bristled
in horrified reproof. "Shanties!--Oh, dear me, sir!" he murmured.
"Shanties--your magnificent town mansion situate in Saint James's
Square, London, as your respected father hacquired from a royal dook,
sir! Shanties!--your costly and helegant res-eye-dence in Park Lane,
sir!"

"Hum!" said Young R. moodily.

"Then, in Scotland, sir, we 'ave your castle of Drumlochie, sir--rocks,
turrets, battlements, 'ighly grim and romantic, sir!"

"Ha!" sighed his young master, frowning at his cigar.

"Next, sir,--in Italy we find your ancient Roman villa, sir--halabaster
pillows and columns, sir--very historical though a trifle wore with wars
and centuries of centoorians, sir, wherefore I would humbly suggest a
coat or two of paint, sir, applied beneath your very own eye, sir--"

"No, Brimberly," murmured Young R., "paint might have attractions--Italy,
none!"

"Certingly not, sir, cer-tingly not! Which brings us to your schloss in
Germany, sir--"

"Nor Germany! Lord, Brimberly, are there many more?"