"Mr. Vivian and I are going to talk of modern things."
"I know, Thackeray and Patti, and three-volume novels, and skirt
dancing, and all the rest of it," said Mr. Green, with unaffected
reverence. "Well, I'm off. I say, Hen, pop in at the Bath on your way
home and have a whiskey and soda. I shall just be out of the hot room
and--"
"I'm sorry, Bob," said the Prophet with almost terrible solemnity, "that
I can't, that--in fact--I am unable."
"What? Going to the dentist?"
"Exactly--that is, not at all."
"Well, what's up? Some intellectual business, lecture on Walter Scott,
or Dickens, or one of the other Johnnies that are so popular just now?"
"No. I have a--a small gathering at home this afternoon.
"All right. Then I'll pop round on you--say five o'clock."
"No, Bob, no, I can't say that. I'm very sorry, but I can't possibly say
that."
"Right you are. Too clever for me, I s'pose. Look me up at the Tintack
to-night then--any time after ten."
"If I can, Bob, I will," replied the Prophet, with impressive
uncertainty, "I say if I can I will do so."
"Done! If you can't, then I'm not to expect you. That it?"
"That is it--precisely.
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