CHAPTER XVIII

THE SILLY LIFE

“Call a cab for Sir Tiglath, Mr. Ferdinand,” whispered the Prophet—­“a four-wheeler with a lame horse.  I’ll take both Mr. and Madame Sagittarius in the brougham.”

“Must the horse be lame, sir?”

“Yes.  I absolutely decline to encourage the practice of using good horses in four-wheeled cabs.  It’s a disgrace to the poor animals.  It must be a very lame horse.”

“Yes, sir.”

And Mr. Ferdinand, standing upon the doorstep, whistled to the night.

Strange to say, in about two minutes there appeared round the corner the very same cabman who had conveyed the Prophet and Lady Enid to the astronomer’s on the previous day, driving the very same horse.

“This horse will do admirably,” said the Prophet to Mr. Ferdinand.

“He isn’t lame, sir.”

“P’r’aps not; but he knows how to tumble down.  Sir Tiglath, here is a cab for you.  We shall go in the brougham.  Zoological House, Regent’s Park, is the direction.  Let me help you in, Madame.”

As the Prophet got in to sit bodkin between his old and valued friends, he whispered to the footman,—­

“Tell Simkins to drive as fast as possible.  We are very late.”

The footman touched his hat.  Just as the carriage moved off, the Prophet protruded his head from the window, and saw the astronomer rolling into the four-wheeler, the horse of which immediately fell down in a most satisfactory manner.

There was no general conversation in the brougham, but the Prophet, who was obliged to sit partly on Madame, and partly on Mr. Sagittarius and partly on air, occasionally heard in the darkness at his back terrible matrimonial whisperings, whose exact tenor he was unable to catch.  Once only he heard Madame say sibilantly and with a vicious click,—­

“I might have known what to expect when I married a Prophet—­when I passed over the pons asinoribus to give myself to a monstram horrendo.”

To this pathetic heart-cry Mr. Sagittarius made a very prolonged answer.  The Prophet knew it was prolonged because Mr. Sagittarius always whispered in such a manner as to tickle the nape of his neck.  But he could not hear anything except a sound like steam escaping from a small pipe.  The steam went on escaping until the brougham passed through a gate, rolled down a declivity, and drew up before an enormous mansion whose windows blazed with light.

“Is this the Zoological Gardens?” inquired Madame in a stern voice.  “Is this the habitation of the woman Bridgeman?”

“I suppose this is Zoological House,” replied the Prophet, sliding decorously off Madame’s left knee in preparation for descent.

“My darling! my love!” said Mr. Sagittarius.  “I swear upon the infant head of our Capricornus that Mrs. Bridgeman and I are—­”

“Enough!” cried Madame. “Jam satus!  Be sure that I will inquire into this matter.”