Ferdinand remarked in the small of the
Prophet's back,--
"Shall I set down the tea on the mat, sir, or--"
The Prophet bounded into the library, tingling in every vein. His
panther-like entrance evidently took the two conversationalists aback,
for Malkiel the Second, who had been plaintively promenading about the
room, still on his toes according to the behest of Mr. Ferdinand,
sat down violently on a small table as if he had been shot, while the
contralto voice, which had been sitting on a saddle-back chair by the
hearth, simultaneously bounced up; both these proceedings being
carried out with the frantic promptitude characteristic of complete and
unhesitating terror.
"I beg your pardon!" said the Prophet. "I hope I haven't disturbed you."
Malkiel the Second leaned back, the contralto voice leaned forward, and
both breathed convulsively.
"I really must apologise," continued the Prophet. "I fear I have
startled you."
His guests swallowed nothing simultaneously and mechanically drew out
their handkerchiefs. Then Malkiel feebly got up and the contralto voice
feebly sank down again.
"I--I thought I said sharp, sir," remarked Malkiel, at length, with a
great effort recovering himself.
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