“What was it then?” inquired the Prophet, deeply interested.
“Sir, it was the Eastern language.”
“Ah!”
“Could we let our children learn to speak it? Could we bear to launch them in life, handicapped, weighed down by such a tongue? Could we do this?”
Again the Prophet mistook the nature of the question, and was led to reply,—
“Certainly English children speaking only Arabic might well be at some loss in ordinary conver—”
“We could not, sir. It was impossible. So we resolved to go to the north of London and to avoid Whitechapel at whatever cost.”
“Whitechapel!” almost cried the Prophet.
“This determination it was, sir, that eventually led our steps to the borders of the River Mouse.”
“Oh, really!”