“I assure you,” inserted the Prophet, endeavouring vainly to seem at ease, “I do not wish to think it.”

“It matters little whether you wish to do so or not,” continued Malkiel, with an increasingly Juggernaut air.  “The son of Malkiel the First is not a man to be trifled with or dodged.  Moreover, much more than the future of myself and family depends upon what you really are.  From this day forth you will be bound up with the Almanac.”

“Merciful Heavens!” ejaculated the Prophet, unable, intrepid as he was, to avoid recoiling when he found himself thus suddenly confronted with the fate of an appendix.

“For why should it ever cease?” proceeded Malkiel, with growing passion.  “Why—­if a prophet can live, as you declare, freely and openly in the Berkeley Square?  If this is so, why should I not remove, along with Madame and family, from the borders of the Mouse and reside henceforth in a central situation such as I should wish to reside in?  Why should not Capricornus eventually succeed me in the Almanac as I succeeded Malkiel the First?  Already the boy shows the leanings of a prophet.  Hitherto Madame and I have endeavoured to stifle them, to turn them in an architectural direction.  You understand?”

“I am trying to,” stammered the Prophet.

“Hitherto we have corrected the boy’s table manners when they have become too like those of the average prophet—­as they often have—­for hitherto we have had reason to believe that all prophets—­with the exception of myself—­were dirty, deceitful and essentially suburban persons.  But if you are a prophet we have been deceived.  Trust me, sir, I shall find speedy means to pierce you to the very marrow.”

The Prophet began mechanically to feel for his hat.

“Are you desirous of anything, sir?” said Malkiel, sharply.

“No,” said the Prophet, wondering whether the moment had arrived to throw off all further pretence of bravery and to shout boldly for the assistance of the young librarian.

“Then why are you feeling about, sir?  Why are you feeling about?”

“Was I?” faltered the Prophet.

“You are looking for another glass of wine, perhaps?”

“No, indeed,” said the Prophet, desperately.  “For anything but that.”

But Malkiel, moved by some abruptly formed resolution, called suddenly in a powerful voice,—­

“Frederick Smith!”

“Here, Mr. Sagittarius!” cried the young librarian, appearing with suspicious celerity upon the parlour threshold.

“Draw the cork of the second bottle, Frederick Smith,” said Malkiel, impressively.  “This gentleman is about to take the pledge”—­on hearing this ironic paradox the Prophet stood up, very much in the attitude formerly assumed by Malkiel when about to dodge in the library—­“that I shall put to him,” concluded Malkiel, also standing up, and assuming the library posture of the Prophet.