“Do all the other boys at the office wish to be strangled?” continued the Prophet. “Come, my lad, why don’t you answer me?”
“No, sir,” whispered the small boy, passing his little tongue over his pale lips.
“Very well, my lad, the next boy who brings a telegram to this house will be strangled, do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir,” sighed the small boy, like a terror-stricken Zephyr.
“That’s right. Good-night, my lad.”
The Prophet closed the street door very softly, and the small boy dropped fainting on the pavement and was carried to the nearest hospital on a stretcher by two dutiful policemen.
Meanwhile the Prophet opened the telegram and read as follows:—
“Insufferable insolence. How dare you; shall pay dearly; with you to-morrow first ‘bus.
“JUPITER AND MADAME SAGITTARIUS.”
“Mr. Ferdinand!” called the Prophet.