“Modest and retiring, sir?” cried Mr. Sagittarius, suddenly illumined by a ray of hope. “That’s just it! I am a modest and retiring outside broker, sir.”
And he violently endeavoured to prove the truth of the words by escaping forthwith into obscurity.
“There never was a modest and retiring outside broker!” bellowed Sir Tiglath. “There never was, and there never will be. The old—”
“What’s that?” interrupted Mr. Sagittarius. “Whatever’s that?”
For at this moment an extraordinary hum of voices made itself audible above the fifty guitars, and a noise of many feet trampling eagerly upon Mrs. Bridgeman’s parquet grew louder and louder in the brilliant rooms. Attracted by the uproar, Sir Tiglath paused for a moment, still keeping his hand upon the lapel of Mr. Ferdinand’s coat, however. The noise increased. It was evident that a multitude of people was rapidly approaching. Words uttered by the moving guests, exclamations, and ejaculations of excitement now detached themselves from the general murmur.
“The Prophet from the Mouse!”
“The great Malkiel here!”
“The founder of the almanac!”
“The greatest Prophet of the age!”
“Malkiel the Second from the Mouse!”