As I
am leaving I see the backs of two of your guests. One is a pelisse, the
other a spotted collar. As I near them they mount into a purple omnibus
on which is printed in huge letters, _'To the "Pork Butcher's Rest'_--"
"No! No!" ejaculated the Prophet, pale with horror at this revelation.
"_Rest_, Crampton Vale, N. I lose them in the shadows. The next day
I call and find your grandmother is dying from the noise made by boys
bringing you private telegrams. And then you tell me, me--Minerva
Partridge--that you have no double life! Yes, you can let him get up
now, please."
The cabman permitted the horse to do so and they again struggled
funereally forward. The Prophet was still very pale.
"I suppose it is useless to--very well," he said. "My life is double."
"Ah!"
"But only lately, quite lately."
"Never mind that. Oh! How glad I am that you have had the courage
too! You will soon get into it, as I did. But you should have all your
telegrams and so forth directed to Jellybrand's."
"It's too late," replied the Prophet, dejectedly. "Too late. I do wish
that horse wouldn't fall down so continually! It's most monotonous."
"The poor man naturally wants the extra sixpence.
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