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"On the other 'and," pursued Mr. Brimberly, smiling and caressing his left whisker, "'e may be on 'is way to Hafghanistan or Hasia Minor at this pre-cise moment 'e is that metehoric, lord! These millionaires is much of a muchness, sir, 'ere to-day, gone to-morrer. Noo York this week, London or Paris the next. Young Har is always upsetting my plans, 'e is, and that's a fact, sir!
Young Har is a unknown quantity, sir a will o' the wisp, or as you might say, a ignus fattus. At this pre-cise moment 'e may be in Jerusalem or Jericho or a-sittin' outside on the lawn which Gawd forbid! But there, don't let's talk of it. Come on down into the cellars, and we'll bring up enough port to drownd sorrer an' care all night." "With all my heart!" said Mr.
Though to be sure 't would only be vanity an' vexation arter all," he added mournfully, "so let's talk o' better things." "Why, then, Jessamy," said the Tinker, his eyes twinkling more than usual, "what might be the pre-cise time by your chronometer?" "It is now," replied Jessamy, solemnly consulting his watch, "exactly five an' three quarter minutes to seven, Jerry."
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