glove lay upon the breast of the chocolate brown frock coat--"where
else than here will you find a prophet who hides his identity beneath an
_alias_, who remains, as Madame always says, _perdew_, and who conducts
his profession on honourable and business-like lines? Am I dressed like
a prophet?" He suddenly brought his doubled fist down upon the Prophet's
knee.

"No," cried Hennessey. "Certainly not!"

"Why, sir, how can I be when I tell you that Merriman & Saxster of
Regent Street are my tailors, and have been since my first pair of
trouserings? Do I bear myself prophetically? I think you will agree
that I do not when you know that I am frequently mistaken for an outside
broker--yes, sir, and that this has even happened upon the pier at
Margate. You have seen my demeanour at Jellybrand's. You saw me come
into the library. You saw my manner with Frederick Smith. Was it
assuming? Did I lord it over the lad?"

"Certainly not."

"No. I might have been anybody, any ordinary person living in Grosvenor
Place, or, like yourself, in the Berkeley Square. And so it ever is.
Other prophets there are--possibly men of a certain ability even in that
direction--but there is only one Malkiel, only one who attends strictly
to business, who draws a good income from the stars, sir, and satisfies
the public month in, month out, without making a fuss about it. Wait a
few years, sir, only wait!"

"Certainly," said the Prophet. "I will."