"Sir?"

"Your glass is under the chair yonder, or is it your friend's?"

Mr. Brimberly goggled toward Mr. Stevens' betraying glass, picked it
up, and sat staring at it in vague and dreamy fashion until, rousing at
his master's second bidding, he proceeded to mix brandy and soda, his
gaze still profoundly abstracted and his whiskers drooping with an
abnormal meekness.

At this juncture a knock sounded at the door, and a chauffeur appeared,
looking very smart in his elegant livery; a thick-set man, mightily deep
of chest, whose wide shoulders seemed to fill the doorway, and whose
long, gorilla-like arms ended in two powerful hands; his jaw was
squarely huge, his nose broad and thick, but beneath his beetling brows
blinked two of the mildest blue eyes in the world.

"What is it, Joe?"

"And what time will ye be wantin' the car in the mornin', sir?" he
enquired.

"The morning, Joe? Who can say what may happen between now and then?"

"Shall I have her round at eleven, sir, or--"

"Eleven will do as well as any other time--let it go at that."

"You was to see your broker, Mr. Anderson, in the morning over them
steamship shares, sir."