“Again!” he whispered hoarsely in the cook’s ear.
“Again? Again? What again? Rice——”
“Did I not prognosticate?”
“Pork——”
“Look! Again he is there!” and the fortune-teller whirled the cook around and, half crouching, pointed cautiously to the guardhouse.
“So he is! So he is!” cried the cook.
“Did I not foretell it? Master cook, did I not prognosticate?”
“Yes, that is a fact,” answered the cook doubtfully.
“Cook,” continued the fortune-teller in mystic-triumphant tones, “I see everything, hear everything, know everything. Now, master cook, let me do you a good turn; it will only cost——”
“But,” suddenly exclaimed the cook, brightening, “he has been there in that fashion toward night-cooking for nearly two full moons.”