The Definite Object
Mr. Brimberly coughed softly behind plump fingers.
"The--the key, sir?" he suggested.
"Oh, not at all necessary, Brimberly; the lock is faulty, you know."
"Sir?" said Brimberly, soothing a twitching whisker.
"If you are familiar with the life of the Fourteenth Louis, Brimberly, you will remember that the Grand Monarch hated to be kept waiting--so do I. A cigar--in the cabinet yonder."
With his whiskers in a high state of agitation, Mr. Brimberly laid by the garments he held clutched in one arm and coming to the cabinet, opened it, and taking thence a box of cigars, very much at random, came back, carrying it rather as though it were a box of highly dangerous explosives, and setting it at his master's elbow, struck a match.
As Mr. Brimberly watched his master select and light his cigar, it chanced that Young R. raised his eyes and looked at him, and to be sure those eyes were surprisingly piercing and quick f