“They are here, no doubt, these motives,” said he. “Perhaps I am astute, perhaps I have the seer’s eye. If I foretold you a deluge, what would you do?”
“Invest my money in an ark.”
“A floating capital, to be sure. But you could never realise on it if you weathered the storm.”
“And you, monsieur?”
“And I, monsieur?—I should endeavour, very likely, to extract the essence of twenty years from one; I should at least spare no expense to that end. Were I foredoomed to founder, I would make myself a wreck that I might sink the more easily.”
He came scrambling to his feet.
“Do you like music?” he cried. “I will canvass you in the prophetic vein. I see the rising of the waters.”
He was looking about vaguely as he spoke.
“What the devil is become of it?” he muttered.
“Are you hunting for your guitar? You will find it flat beyond tuning, I am afraid.”