VI
A PROPHECY
"And now," said the solicitor, "as the decks
are clear, let me say this is a rather odd affair
which has sent me hungry about the streets of
London at an unpleasant hour."
"Am I not surprisingly cool about it?" said Northcote, with a flushed face, balancing his empty wine-glass on the handle of a knife, "considering that this business of yours is destined to mark the turning-point in my career."
"When a man begins to talk of his career," said the solicitor, "it is safe to infer that he has taken the wrong quantity of liquor. Waiter!"
"Sare?"
"Tell Jools we want another pint of this filthy stuff—this what-do-you-call-it?—with which he is poisoning us. And, Alphonse, have a couple of Welsh rarebits ready by the time we want them."
The waiter withdrew, walking delicately; and the solicitor bent across the table towards his companion in a manner of confidential gravity.
"Correct me if I am wrong," said he, "but you have done no circuit work?"
"Hitherto I have not soared beyond a police-court," said the young man, with perfect frankness. "And even there I have only made a public display of my incapacity on half a dozen occasions."
