THE PROPHET BEGINS TO CARRY OUT HIS DIRECTIONS"Mr.Ferdinand," said the Prophet the same evening, after he had dressed for dinner, "what has become of the telescope?"He spoke in a low voice, not unlike that of a confirmed conspirator, and glanced rather furtively around him, as if afraid of being overheard.
"I have removed it, sir, according to your orders," replied Mr.
Ferdinand, also displaying some uneasiness.
"Yes, yes.Where have you placed it?"
"Well, sir, I understood you to say I might throw it in Piccadilly, if I so wished."The Prophet suddenly displayed relief.
"I see.You have done so."
"Well, no, sir."
The Prophet's face fell.
"Then where is it?"
"Well, sir, for the moment I have set it in the butler's pantry.""Indeed!"
"I thought it might be of use there, sir," continued Mr.Ferdinand, in some confusion, which, however, was not noticed by the Prophet."Of great use to--to Gustavus and me in--in our duties, sir.""Quite so, quite so," returned the Prophet, abstractedly.
"Did you wish it to be taken to the drawing-room again, sir?"The Prophet started.
"Certainly not," he said."On no account.As you very rightly say--a butler's pantry is the place for a telescope.It can be of great service there."His fervour surprised Mr.Ferdinand, who began to wonder whether, by any chance, his master knew of the Lord Chancellor's agreeable-looking second-cook.After pausing a moment respectfully, Mr.Ferdinand was about to decamp when the Prophet checked him with a gesture.
"One moment, Mr.Ferdinand!"
"Sir?"
"One moment!"
Mr.Ferdinand stood still.The Prophet cleared his throat, arranged his tie, and then said, with an air of very elaborate nonchalance,--"At what time do you generally go to bed, Mr.Ferdinand, when you don't sit up?""Sometimes at one time, sir, and sometimes at another.""That's rather ambiguous."
"I beg pardon, sir."
"What is your usual hour for being quite--that is, entirely in bed.""Entirely in bed, sir?"
Mr.Ferdinand's fine bass voice vibrated with surprise.
"Yes.Not partially in bed, but really and truly in bed?""Well, sir," returned Mr.Ferdinand, with decided dignity, "when I am in bed, sir, I am.""And when's that?"
"By twelve, sir."
"I thought as much," cried the Prophet, with slightly theatrical solicitude."You sit up too late, Mr.Ferdinand.""I hope, sir, that I--"
"That's what makes you so pale, Mr.Ferdinand, and delicate.""Delicate, sir!" cried Mr.Ferdinand, who had in fact been hopelessly robust from the cradle, totally incapable of acquiring even the most universal complaints, and, moreover, miraculously exempt from that well-recognised affliction of the members of his profession so widely known as "butler's feet.""Yes," said the Prophet, emphatically."You should be in bed, thoroughly in bed, by a quarter to eleven.And Gustavus too! He is young, and the young can't be too careful.Begin to-night, Mr.
Ferdinand.I speak for your health's sake, believe me."So saying the Prophet hurried away, leaving Mr.Ferdinand almost as firmly rooted to the Turkey carpet with surprise as if he had been woven into the pattern at birth, and never unpicked in later years.
At ten that evening the Prophet, having escaped early from his dinner on some extravagant plea of sudden illness or second gaiety, stood in the small and sober passage of the celebrated Tintack Club and inquired anxiously for Mr.Robert Green.
"Yes, sir.Mr.Green is upstairs in the smoke-room," said the functionary whom the club grew under glass for the benefit of the members and their friends.
"Sam, show this gentleman to Mr.Green."
Sam, who was a red-faced child in buttons, with a man's walk and the back of one who knew as much as most people, obeyed this command, and ushered the Prophet into a room with a sealing-wax red paper, in which Robert Green was sitting alone, smoking a large cigar and glancing at the "stony-broke edition" of an evening paper.He greeted the Prophet with his usual unaffected cordiality, offered him every drink that had yet been invented, and, on his refusal of them all, handed him a cigar and a matchbox, and whistled "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-av" at him in the most friendly manner possible.
"Bob," said the Prophet, taking a very long time to light the cigar, "what, in your opinion, is the exact meaning of the term honour?"Mr.Green's cheerful, though slightly belated, face assumed an expression of genial betwaddlement.
"Oh, well, Hen," he said, "exact meaning you know's not so easy.But--hang it, we all understand the thing, eh, without sticking it down in words.What?""I don't, Bob," rejoined the Prophet, in the tone of a man at odds with several consciences."In what direction does honour lie?""It don't lie at all, old chap," said Mr.Green, with the decided manner which had made him so universally esteemed in yeomanry circles.
The Prophet began to look very much distressed.
"Look here, Bob, I'll put it in this way," he said."Would an honourable man feel bound to keep a promise?""Rather."
"Yes, but would he feel bound to keep two promises?""Rather, if he'd made 'em."
"Suppose he had!"
"Go ahead, Hen, I'm supposing," said Mr.Green, beginning to pucker his brows and stare very hard indeed in the endeavour to keep the supposition fixed firmly in his head.
"And, further, suppose that these two promises were diametrically opposed to one another."Mr.Green stuck out one leg, looked obliquely at the carpet, pressed his lips together and nodded.
"So that if he fulfilled them both he'd have to break them both--""Stop a sec! Gad, I've lost it! Start again, Hen!""No, I mean so that if he didn't break one he would be forced to break the other.Have you got that?""Stop a bit! Don't believe I have.Let's see!"He moved his lips silently, repeating the Prophet's words.
"Yes.I've got that all right now," he said, after three minutes of strenuous mental exertion.
"Well, what would you say of him?"
"That he was a damned fool."
The Prophet looked very much upset.
