"Dear, dear! Why then, sir, whisky? Brandy? A lick-your?"
"Nothing."
"A cigar, sir?"
"Hum! Have we any of the Garcias left?"
"Y-yes, sir. Ho, certingly, sir. Shall I—"
"Don't bother, I prefer my pipe; only let me know when we get short, Brimberly, and we'll order more—or perhaps you have a favourite brand?"
"Brand, sir," murmured Brimberly, "a—er—certingly, sir."
"Good night, Brimberly."
"Good night, sir, but first can't I do—hanything?"
"Oh, yes, you do me, of course. You do me so consistently and well that I really ought to raise your wages. I'll think about it."