Malkiel smiled with easy irony.
“Strange powers in Berkeley Square!” he ejaculated. “The Berkeley Square! But go on, sir. What are they?”
“Having been led to study the stars,” continued the Prophet with more composure and growing earnestness, “I felt myself moved to make a prophecy.”
“Weather forecast, I suppose,” remarked Malkiel, laconically.
“How did you know that?”
“The easiest kind, sir, the number one beginner’s prophecy. Capricornus used to tell Madame what the weather’d be as soon as he could talk. But go on, sir, go on, I beg.”
The Prophet began to feel rather less like Isaiah, but he continued, with some determination,—
“If that had been all, I daresay I should have thought very little of the matter.”
“No, you wouldn’t sir. Who thinks their first baby a little one? Can you tell me that?”
The Prophet considered the question for a moment. Then he answered,—