The Prophet of Berkeley Square | Page 7

clergyman's daughter, but thoughtlessly, and without any previous
examination into the clericalism of rectory females, any first-hand
knowledge of mothers' meetings, devoid of which he must be a stout-
hearted gentleman who would rush in where even curates often fear to
tread. He had been to the Derby, but without wearing a bottle-green
veil or carrying a betting-book. In fact, he had not taken life very
seriously, or fully appreciated the solemn duties it brings to all who
bear its yoke. Only when the plump red hand of Sir Tiglath--holding a
bumper of thirty-four port--pointed the way to the heavens, did
Hennessey begin--through his telescope--to see the great possibilities
that foot it about the existence of even the meanest man who eats,
drinks and suffers. For through his telescope he saw that he might be a
prophet. Malkiel read the future in the stars. Why not he?
He endeavoured to do so. He sought an intimacy with the benefic
/Jupiter/, and found it--perhaps by a secret kow-towing to /Sagittarius/.
He made up openly to /Canis Major/ and was shortly on what might
almost be considered terms of affection with /Venus/. And he was,
moreover, presently quite fearless in the presence of /Saturn/, quite

unabashed beneath the glittering eye of /Mercury/. Then, as the
neophyte growing bold by familiarity with the circle of the great ones,
he ventured on his first prophecy, a discreet and even humble forecast
of the weather. He predicted a heavy fall of snow for a certain evening,
and so distrusted his own prediction that when the evening came, mild
and benign, he sallied forth to the Empire Palace of Varieties, and
stayed till near midnight, laughing at the sallies of French clowns, and
applauding the frail antics of cockatoos on motor bicycles. When, on
the stroke of twelve, he came airily forth wrapped in the lightest of dust
coats, he was obliged to endure the greatest of man's amazements--the
knowledge that there was a well of truth within him. Leicester Square
was swathed in an ivory fleece, and he was obliged to gain Berkeley
Square on foot, treading gingerly in pumps, escorted by linkmen with
flaring golden torches, and preceded by tipsy but assiduous ruffians
armed with shovels, who, with many a lusty oath and horrid
imprecation, cleared a thin thread of path between the towering walls of
snow that sparkled faintly in the gaslight.
This experience fired him. He rose up early, lay down late, and, quite
with her assent, cast the horoscope of Mrs. Merillia in the sweat of his
brow. He cast, we say, her horoscope and, from a certain conjunction of
the planets, he gathered, to his horror, that upon the fifteenth day of the
month of January she would suffer an accident while on an evening
jaunt. We find him now, on this fifteenth day of the first month, aware
of his revered grandmother's intrepid expedition to the Gaiety Theatre,
waiting her return to Berkeley Square with mingled feelings which we
might analyse for pages, but which we prefer baldly to state.
He longed to be proved indeed a prophet, and he longed also to see his
beloved relative return from her sheaf of pleasures in the free and
unconstrained use of all her graceful limbs. He was, therefore, torn by
foes in a mental conflict, and was in no case to sip the philosophic
honey of Marcus Aurelius as he sat between the telescope and the fire
in the comfortable drawing-room awaiting his grandmother's return.
"Gustavus," said Mr. Ferdinand in the servants' hall to the flushed
footman who lay upon a what-not, sipping a glass of ale and reading a

new and unabridged farthing edition of Carlyle's /French Revolution/,
"Gustavus, Mrs. Merillia has been and gone to the Gaiety Theatre
to-night. We expect her back at eleven-thirty sharp. She may need
assistance on her return, Gustavus."
The footman put down the tumbler which he was in the act of raising to
his pouted lips.
"Assistance, Mr. Ferdinand!" he ejaculated. "Mrs. Merillia, Mr.
Ferdinand!"
"She may--we say she /may/--have to be carried to bed, Gustavus."
Gustavus's jaw dropped, and the /French Revolution/ fluttered in his
startled hands.
"Good lawks, Mr. Ferdinand!" he exclaimed (not quoting from
Carlyle).
"Have an armchair ready in the hall, Gustavus. Mrs. Merillia must not
be dropped. You understand? That will do, Gustavus."
And Mr. Ferdinand passed to the adjacent supper-table, to join the
upper housemaid in a discussion of two subjects that were very near to
their hearts, a round of beef and a tureen of pickled cabbage, while
Gustavus got up from the what-not in a bemused manner, and
proceeded to search dreamily for an armchair. He came upon one by
chance in the dining-room, and wheeled it out into the hall just as the
clocks in