"N.!"

"What?"

"Crampton St. Peter. N. That is the point."

"Very well--Crampton St. Peteren, totally and entirely unnecessary?"

"You desire my revelation, sir? You desire to enter into the bosom of
a family that hitherto has dwelt apart, has lain as I may say _perdew_
beside the secret waters of the River Mouse? Is it indeed so?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon," cried the Prophet, hastily. "I would not for
the world intrude upon--"

"Those hallowed precincts! Well, perhaps you have the right.
Jellybrand's has betrayed me to you. You know my name, my profession.
Why should you not know more? Perhaps it is better so."

With the sudden energy of a man who is reckless of fate he seized his
goblet, poured into it at least a shilling's worth of "creaming foam,"
drained it to the dregs and, shaking back his matted hair with a leonine
movement of the head, exclaimed,--

"Malkiel the First, who founded the _Almanac_, lay _perdew_ all his
life."

"Beside the secret waters of the River Mouse?" the Prophet could not
help interposing.