"And now, sir, I am all attention."

He looked up. He saw the parlour, the ground glass of the door, the
tumblers and bottles on the table, the sharp features and strained,
farcical eyes of Malkiel framed in the matted, curling hair. Then all
was not over yet. There was something still in store for him. He sat up,
pushed the creaming four-shilling foam out of his sight, turned to his
interlocutor, and with a great effort collected himself.

"I want to consult you," he began, "about my strange powers."

Malkiel smiled with easy irony.

"Strange powers in Berkeley Square!" he ejaculated. "The Berkeley
Square! But go on, sir. What are they?"

"Having been led to study the stars," continued the Prophet with more
composure and growing earnestness, "I felt myself moved to make a
prophecy."

"Weather forecast, I suppose," remarked Malkiel, laconically.

"How did you know that?"

"The easiest kind, sir, the number one beginner's prophecy. Capricornus
used to tell Madame what the weather'd be as soon as he could talk. But
go on, sir, go on, I beg."

The Prophet began to feel rather less like Isaiah, but he continued,