“It will be done to-night,” said Sargon, with a glance and intonation and gesture that would have bent all dream Sumeria to its knees.
But the managers of European restaurants are made of sterner stuff, it seems, than were the old Sumerians. “I’m afraid not, sir,” he said, and stood blandly obstructive.
“Do you know,” cried Sargon, “who it is with whom you have to deal?”
“Not one of our regular customers, sir,” said the manager, with the apologetic air of one who scores a point perforce.
“Listen,” said Sargon. “This day is an Epoch. This is the End and the Beginning of an Age. Men will count this banquet I shall hold here the sunrise moment of a new world. I am Sargon, Sargon the Great, Sargon the Restorer, come to proclaim myself. This multitude of my followers must be fed and instructed here, fed bodily and fed spiritually. See to it that your share is done.”
He made a gesture behind him when he spoke of his followers, but indeed there was no following behind him now save that one faithful but deluded African, and that perplexed but persistent Oldham reporter. The Eton boy had detached himself completely now. He was sitting at a table afar off, where he had been joined by his friend, and they conversed in undertones and watched. Even Mr. Godley with his microscope, and the gentleman with the book about the Doukhobors, had faded out of this story by this time, and were going along Holborn exchanging and interrupting each other’s explanations and surmises about this singular affair that had so unexpectedly deflected their high and reasonable progress through life.
“I can only sus-sas-sas-suppose that-the-fellow-was-mad,” said Mr. Godley.
While Sargon’s retinue had melted the manager’s had gathered. Behind him now stood an array of waiters of every description, three dozen perhaps of various and yet uniform waiters, tall waiters and short ones, fat and thin, hairy and bald, young and old, waiters in aprons and one in shirt sleeves.
“I’m afraid you’re creating a disturbance here,” said the manager. “I’m afraid I must ask you to go, sir.”
Should he go? Never!