The young librarian assumed an attitude of vital suspicion and the expression of a lynx.
“For Malkiel the Second, sir?” he replied in a piercing soprano voice.
“Yes,” said the Prophet. “A boy messenger with four medals. There was a crest on the envelope—an elephant rampant surrounded by a swarm of bees.”
A dogged look of combined terror and resolution overspread the young librarian’s countenance.
“There’s been no elephant and no swarm of bees in here,” he said with trembling curtness.
“You are sure you would have remembered the circumstance if there had been?”
“Rather! What do you think? We don’t allow things of them sort in here, I can tell you.”
The Prophet drew out half a sovereign, upon which a ray of sunshine immediately fell as if in benediction.
“Does Mr. Malkiel—?
“Malkiel the Second,” interrupted the young librarian, whose pinkish eyes winked at the illumination of the gold.