The Prophet approached the
counter softly, and allowed the sable with which his coat was trimmed to
rest against it.
"Did a boy messenger call here a few days ago with a note for Mr.
Malkiel?" he asked.
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.
"Malkiel the Second ever call here--in person?"
"In person?" said the young librarian, very suspiciously.
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