The Prophet of Berkeley Square | Page 8

the house rang out the half-hour after eleven.
The Prophet above sprang up from the couch by the fire, Mr. Ferdinand
below closed his discussion with the upper housemaid, and the former
rapidly came down, the latter up, stairs as the roll of wheels broke
through the silence of the square.
Gustavus, in an attitude of bridled curiosity, was posed beneath a polar
bear that held an electric lamp. His hand was laid upon the back of the
armchair, and his round hazel eyes were turned expectantly towards the

hall as his two masters joined him.
"Is all ready, Mr. Ferdinand?" said the Prophet, anxiously.
"All is ready, sir," replied the butler.
"Wheel the chair forward, Gustavus, if you please," said the Prophet.
"Mrs. Merillia must not be dropped. Remember that."
"Not be dropped, sir--no."
The chair ran forward on its amicable castors as a carriage was heard to
stop outside. Mr. Ferdinand flung open the portal, and the Prophet
glided out excitedly upon the step.
"Well?" he cried, "well?"
A footman, in a long drab coat with red facings, was preparing to get
off the box of a smart brougham, but before he could reach the
pavement, a charming head, covered with a lace cap, was thrust out of
the window, and a musical and almost girlish voice cried,--
"All nonsense, Hennessey, all rubbish! Saturn don't know what he's
talkin' about. Look!"
The carriage door was vivaciously opened from the inside and a
delightful little old lady, dressed in brown silk, with a long, cheerful
pointed nose, rosy cheeks, and chestnut hair--that almost mightn't have
been a wig in certain lights--prepared to leap forth without waiting for
the reverent assistance that the Prophet, flanked by Mr. Ferdinand and
Gustavus, was in waiting to afford.
As she jumped, she began to cry, "Not much wrong with me, is there,
Hennessey?" but before the sentence was completed she had caught her
neat foot in her brown silk gown, had stumbled from the step of the
carriage to the pavement, had twisted her pretty ankle, had reeled and
almost fallen, had been caught by the Prophet and Mr. Ferdinand, borne
tenderly into the hall, and placed in the armchair which the terrified

Gustavus, with almost enraged ardour, drove forward to receive her. As
she sank down in it, helpless, Mrs. Merillia exclaimed, with unabated
vivacity,--
"It's happened, Hennessey, it's happened! But it was my own doin' and
yours. You shouldn't have prophesied at your age, and I shouldn't have
jumped at mine.
"Dearest grannie!" cried the Prophet, on his knees beside her, "how
grieved, how shocked I am! Is it--is it--"
"Sprained, Hennessey?"
He nodded. Mechanically Mr. Ferdinand nodded. Gustavus let his
powdered head drop, too, in imitation of his superiors.
"I'll tell you in the drawin'--room."
She placed her pretty, mittened hands upon the arms of the chair, and
gave a little wriggle, trying to get up. Then she cried out musically,--
"No, I must be carried up. Mr. Ferdinand!"
"Ma'am!"
"Is Gustavus to be trusted?"
"Trusted, ma'am!" cried Mr. Ferdinand, looking at Gustavus, who had
assumed an expression of pale and pathetic dignity. "Trusted--a London
footman! Oh, ma'am!"
His voice failed. He choked and began to rummage in the pocket of his
black tail coat for his perfumed handkerchief.
"T'st, t'st! I mean his arms," said Mrs. Merillia, patting her delicate
hands quickly on the chair. "Can he carry me?"
The countenance of Mr. Ferdinand cleared, while Gustavus eagerly
extended his right arm, bent it sharply, and allowed his magnificent

biceps to rise up in sudden majesty. Mrs. Merillia was reassured.
"Hoist me to the drawin'-room, then," she said. "Hennessey, will you
walk behind?"
The procession was formed, and the little old lady proceeded by a
succession of jerks to the upper floor, her silk gown rustling against the
balusters, and her tiny feet dangling loosely in mid-air, while her long
and elegant head nodded each time Mr. Ferdinand and Gustavus
pranced carefully sideways to a higher step. The Prophet followed
solicitously behind, with hands outstretched to check any dangerous
recoil. His face was very grave, but not entirely unhappy.
"Set me down by the fire," said Mrs. Merillia, when she found herself
being smoothly propelled through the atmosphere of the drawing-room.
The menials obeyed with breathless assiduity.
"And now bring me a sandwich, a glass of toast and water and a fan, if
you please. Yes, put the footstool well under me."
"Dearest grannie," said the Prophet, when the men had retired, "are you
in great pain?"
"No, Hennessey. Are you?"
Mrs. Merillia's green eyes twinkled.
"I!"
"Yes, at my accident. For my ankle is sprained, I'm almost sure, and I
shall have to lie up presently in wet bandages. Tell me, are you really
pained that I have had the accident