es, you know--what I
heard Mr Drygull call a transcendentalist the other day, whatever that
may be. I don't understand much about these matters myself, but I take
it he is a sort of evolved codger.

_Mrs Allmash_. Oh, how awfully interesting! Dear Mr Drygull, do tell us
some of the extraordinary things the Rishi can do.

_Drygull_. If you will only all of you listen attentively, and if Mr
Germsell will have the goodness to modify to some degree the prejudiced
attitude of mind common to all men of science, you will hear him as
plainly as I can at this moment beating a tom-tom in his cottage in the
Himalayas.

[Mr Germsell _gets up impatiently_, _and walks to the other end of the
back drawing-room_.

_Drygull_ [_casting a compassionate glance after him_]. Perhaps it is
better so. Now please, Lady Fritterly, I must request a few moments of
the most profound silence on the part of all. You will not hear the
sound as though coming from a distance, but it will seem rather like a
muffled drumming taking place inside your head, scarcely perceptible at
first, when its volume will gradually increase.

_Lord Fondleton_ [_aside to_ Mrs Gloring]. Some bad champagne produced
the same phenomenon in my head last night.

_Lady Fritterly_ [_severely_]. Hush! Lord Fondleton.

[_There is a dead silence for some minutes_.

_Mrs Gloring_ [_excitedly_]. Oh, I hear it! It is something like a
woodpecker inside of one.

_Drygull_. Not a word, my dear madam, if you please.

_Lady Fritterly_ [_after a long pause_]. I imagine I hear a very faint
something; there it goes--boom, boom, boom--at the back of my tympanum.

_Lord Fondleton_. That's not like a woodpecker.

_Mrs Gloring_. No; it seems to me more like tic-tic-tic.

_Mrs Allmash_. How too tiresome! I can't hear anything. I suppose it
is on account of the rumble of the carriages.

_Lord Fondleton_ [_whispers to_ Mrs Gloring]. I hear something inside of
me; do you know what?

_Mrs Gloring_. No; what?

_Lord Fondleton_. The beating of my own heart. Can't you guess for
whom?

_Mrs Gloring_. No. Perhaps the Rishi makes it beat.

_Lord Fondleton_. Dear Mrs Gloring, you are the Rishi for whom--

_Mrs Gloring_. Hush!

_Lady Fritterly_. There, it is getting louder, like distant artillery,
and yet so near. Oh, Mr Drygull, what a wonderful man the Rishi must be!

_Drygull_. Yes; he knew that at this hour to-day I should need an
illustration of his