Malkiel's reverie was long, and indeed the two prophets might well
have been sitting in Jellybrand's parlour now, had not a violent sneeze
called for the pink assistance of the flight of storks, and brought the
sneezer down to the level of ordinary humanity.
"Yes, sir--I give you my word Capricornus is to be an architect,"
repeated Malkiel. "What do you say to that?"
"Is it--is it really a better profession than that of prophecy?" asked
the Prophet, rather nervously.
Malkiel smiled mournfully.
"Sir, it may not be more lucrative, but it is more select. Madame will
not mix with prophets, but she has a 'day,' sir, on the banks of the
Mouse, and she has gathered around her a very pleasant and select little
circle."
"Indeed."
"Yes, sir. Architects and their wives. You understand?"
"Quite," rejoined the Prophet, "quite."
Under the mesmeric influence of Malkiel he began to feel as if
architects were some strange race of sacred beings set apart, denizens
of some holy isle or blessed nook of mediaeval legend. Would he ever
meet them? Would he ever encounter one ranging unfettered where flowed
the waters of the River Mouse?
"They do not know who we are, sir," continued Malkiel, furtively.
Pages:
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78