"Useful! More than that, sir, sublime! There's nothing like it."

"Then why let it cease?"

"Because the social status of the prophet, sir, is not agreeable to
myself or Madame. I've had enough of it, sir, already, and I'm barely
turned of fifty. Besides, my father would have wished it, I feel sure,
had he lived in these days. Had he seen Sagittarius Lodge, the children,
and how Madame comports herself, he would have recognised that the
family was destined to rise into a higher sphere than that occupied by
any prophet, however efficient. Besides, I will not deceive you, I have
made money. In another ten years' time, when I have laid by sufficient,
I tell you straight, sir, that I shall go out of prophecy, right out of
it."

"Then your Capricor--that is your son--will not carry on the--"

"Capricornus a prophet, sir!" cried Malkiel. "Not if Madame and I know
it. No, sir, Capricornus is to be an architect."

As Malkiel pronounced the last words he flung his black overcoat wide
open with an ample gesture, thrust one hand into his breast, and assumed
the fixed and far-seeing gaze of a man in a cabinet photograph. He
seemed lost to his surroundings, and rapt by some great vision of
enchanted architects, busy in drawing plans of the magic buildings of
the future ages. The Prophet felt that it would be impious to disturb
him. Malkiel's reverie was long, and indeed the two prophets might well
have been sitting in Jellybrand's parlour now, had not a violent sneeze
called for the pink assistance of the flight of storks, and brought the
sneezer down to the level of ordinary humanity.