"How should I know!" rejoined the blot with obvious, though very hoarse, irony."Whatever d'you take me for?"The Prophet began to wonder, but before he had gone on wondering for more than about half a minute, the blot continued,--"She's gone to bed."
"I know she has," said the Prophet, presuming that the blot, which seemed instinct with all knowledge, was referring to his grandmother.
"But she knows you're at it again," continued the blot.
The Prophet started violently and leaned upon the window-sill.
"No! How can that be?" he ejaculated.
"Ho! Them girls knows everything, especially the old uns," said the blot, with an audible chuckle.
"Good gracious!" gasped the Prophet, overwhelmed at this mysterious visitant's familiar description of his revered grandmother.
"Have you seen her to-night?" inquired the blot, controlling its merriment.
"Yes," said the Prophet."With the Crab.""What!" cried the blot, in obvious astonishment."Them instruments must be wonderful sight-carriers.""They are," exclaimed the Prophet, with almost mystic enthusiasm.
"Wonderful.I have seen her with the Crab distinctly.""Ah! well, I told her she ought to keep away from it," continued the blot.
"Did you?" said the Prophet, with increasing surprise."But how could she?""Ah! that's just it! She couldn't."
"No, of course not."
"She was drawn right to it."
"She was.It wasn't her fault.It was the Crab's.""A pity it was dressed."
"What?"
"I say it's a pity 'twas dressed."
"What was dressed?"
"What! why, the Crab!"
"The Crab--dressed!"
"Ay.They're a deal safer not dressed."
"Are they?"
"She knows it too."
"Does she?"
"But there--them women likes a spice of danger.She's in a nice state now, you bet.Not much sleep for her, I'll lay.Well, I tried to keep her from it, so you needn't blame me.""I won't," said the Prophet, feeling completely dazed.
"Well, go'-night.I'm off round the square.""Good-night," said the Prophet.
Suddenly a blinding flash of light dazzled his eyes.He covered them with his hands.When he could see again the blot was gone.
Although he was retired to rest that night when the clock struck three, the Prophet did not sleep.His nervous system was in a condition of acute excitement.His brain felt like a burning ball, and the palms of his hands were hot with fever.For the spirit of prophecy was upon him once more, and he was bound fast in the golden magic of the stars.Like the morphia maniac who, after valiant fasting, returning to his drug, feels its influence the stronger for his abstinence from it, the Prophet was conscious that the heavens held more power, more meaning for him because, for a while, he had intended to neglect them.He was ravaged by their mystery, their majesty and revelation.
When he came down in the morning pale, dishevelled, but informed by a curious dignity, he was met at once by Mr.Ferdinand.
"I have cleared the area, sir," said the functionary.
"The area, Mr.Ferdinand.What of?"
"Telegrams, sir.The boys must have thrown 'em down without knocking.""Very probably," replied the Prophet."Their comrade was right.They did not wish to be strangled.""No, sir.And I have placed them in a basket on the breakfast table, sir, while awaiting your orders.""Quite right, Mr.Ferdinand.By the way, here is the bradawl.Leave it out again to-night in case I have need of it."So saying, the Prophet handed the bradawl, which he had craftily conveyed from the pantry on the previous night, to the astonished butler and walked swiftly into the breakfast-room.The basket of telegrams was set outside beside a fried sole and the "equipage" which Madame had so much admired, and, while he sipped his tea, the Prophet opened the wires one by one.They were fraught with terror and dismay.
Evidently his mysterious warning had thrown the worthies who dwelt beside the Mouse into a condition of the very gravest amazement and alarm, and they had, despite the Prophet's final injunction, spent the remaining telegraphic hours of the day in despatching wires of frantic inquiry to the square.Madame, in particular, was evidently much upset, and expressed her angry agitation in a dead language that seemed positively to live again in fear and novelty of grammatical construction.Sir Tiglath had been a brilliant card to play in the prophetic game, although he had not achieved the Prophet's purpose of stopping the telegraphic flood.
While the Prophet was simultaneously finishing the fried sole and the perusal of the final wire Mr.Ferdinand entered, in a condition of obvious astonishment that might well have cost him his place.
"If you please, sir," he said, in an up-and-down voice, "if you please there are two--two--two--""Two what? Be more explicit, Mr.Ferdinand.""Two--well, sir, kids at the door waiting for you to see them, sir.""Two kids! What--from the goat show that's going on at the Westminster Aquarium!" cried the Prophet in great surprise.
