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?"
"Why, sir, since you ask me, I should answer—begging your parding—'eavens knows, sir!"
"Precisely! Anyway, I'm going there fast."
"Where, sir?"