Merillia when she was about to arrange that lady's wig for an assembly --and remarked in a decisive, though very respectful, tone of voice,--"The gentleman's about to burst, ma'am.I can't speak different nor mean other."Upon finding their thoughts thus deftly gathered up and woven into a moderately grammatical sentence, Mrs.Merillia, Lady Enid and the Prophet experienced a sense of extraordinary relief, and no longer felt the stern necessity of laughing.But this was not the miracle worked by Mrs.Fancy.Had she, even then, rested satisfied with her acumen, maintained silence and awaited the immediate fulfilment of her prediction, what must have happened can hardly be in doubt.But she was seized by that excess of bravery which is called foolhardiness, and driven by it to that peculiar and thoughtless vehemence of action which sometimes wins V.C.'s for men who, in later days, conceal amazement under the cherished decoration.She suddenly laid down the ice-wool shawl upon a neighbouring sociable, walked up to the phenomenon of the astronomer, and remarked to it with great distinctness,--"You're about to burst, sir.I know it, sir, and I can't know other."At this point the miracle happened, for, instead of responding to the lady's-maid's appeal, and promptly disintegrating into his respective atoms, Sir Tiglath suddenly became comparatively small and comparatively pale, sat forward, wagged his head at Mrs.Fancy, and rumbled out in his ordinary voice,--"Have you never heard where liars go to, woman? Oh-h-h-h!"On finding that nothing of supreme horror was about to happen, Mrs.
Fancy's courage--as is the way of woman's courage--forsook her, she broke into tears, and had to be immediately led forth to the servant's hall by the Prophet, exclaiming persistently with every step they took,--"I can't help it, Master Hennessey.I say again as I said afore--the gentleman's about to burst.Them that knows other let them declare it.""Yes, yes.It's all right, Fancy, it's all right.We all agree with you.Now, now, you mustn't cry.""I can't--know--other, Master Hennessey, nor--mean different.I can't indeed, Master Hennessey, I can't--know other--nor--""No, no.Of course not.There, sit down and compose yourself."He gave the poor, afflicted liar tenderly into the care of the upper housemaid, and retraced his steps quickly to the drawing-room.As he entered it he heard Sir Tiglath saying,--"The stars in their courses tremble when the accursed name of Malkiel is mentioned, and the old astronomer is dissolved in wrath at sound of the pernicious word.Oh-h-h-h!""There, Hennessey!" cried Mrs.Merillia, turning swiftly to her grandson with all her cap ribands fluttering."You hear what Sir Tiglath says?""If that accursed name belonged to an individual," continued the astronomer, waving his hands frantically over the last remaining crumpet, "instead of representing a syndicate of ruffianly underground criminals, the old astronomer, well stricken in years though he be, would hunt him out of his hiding-place and slay him with his own feeble and scientific hands."So saying, he grasped the crumpet as if it had been an assegai, and assailed himself with it so violently that it entirely disappeared.
"But Malkiel is an--" began Mrs.Merillia.
The Prophet stopped her with a glance, whose almost terror-stricken authority surprised her into silence.
"But I thought Malkiel was a man," cried Lady Enid, looking towards the Prophet.
"He--for I will not foul my lips with the accursed name--is not a man,"roared Sir Tiglath."He is a syndicate.He is a company.He meets together, doubtless, in some low den of the city.He reads reports to himself of the ill-gotten gains accruing from his repeated insults to the heavens round some abominable table covered with green cloth.He quotes the prices of the shares in him, and declares dividends, and carries balances forward, and some day will wind himself up or cast himself anew upon the mercy of the market.Part of him is probably Jew, part South African and part America.The whole of him is thrice accursed."He began to expand once more, but Mrs.Merillia perceived the tendency and checked it in time.
"Pray, Sir Tiglath," she said almost severely, "don't.With my sprained ankle I am really not equal to it."Sir Tiglath had enough chivalry to stop, and Lady Enid once again chipped in.
"But, really, I'm almost sure Malkiel is a--"She caught the Prophet's eye, as Mrs.Merillia had, and paused.He turned to the astronomer.
"But how can a company make itself into a prophet?" he asked.
"Young man, you talk idly! What are companies formed for if not to make profits?" retorted Sir Tiglath."Every one is a company nowadays.Don't you know that? Murchison, the famous writer of novels, is a company.
Jeremy, the actor-manager, is a company.So is Bynion the quack doctor, and the Rev.Mr.Kinnimer who supplies tracts to the upper classes, and Upton the artist, whose pictures make tours like Sarah Bernhardt, and Watkins, whose philosophy sells more than Tupper's, and Caroline Jingo, who writes war poems and patriotic odes.If you were to invite these supposed seven persons to dinner, and all of them came, you would have to lay covers for at least fifty scoundrels.Oh-h-h-h!""Well, but how are you sure that--ahem--the /Almanac/ person is also plural, Sir Tiglath?" inquired Mrs.Merillia.
