THE PROPHET.

Otago Witness, Issue 3613, 12 June 1923, Page 74

THE PROPHET.

By

Warren M’Veigh.

[Copyright.] Michael Cossio was the greatest man in Mulberry street. He could do many things: lie was rich, and his son-in-law was an alderman; but his great reputation rested on the fact that lie was a prophet. There was nothing that had already happened that he did not know, from the Declaration of Independence down to the cause of all the trouble that led up to the strike among the Italians at work on the railroad in New Jersey. The prophet was an elderly man who had made at least 20,000 dollars in the thirty years he had been in this country. He was a padrone and a banker. Needless to say, his great wealth brought with it the respect of all the less fortunate. Cossio’s name was known at the City Hall, and so the old man had a very clear idea of his own worth. While he did not discourage the respect of his neighbours and their belief in his prophetic powers, he knew that his predictions were simply the outcome of his knowledge of affairs. The politicians understood the Italian character as well as Cossio did, and so when they told him to prophesy that the election would go a certain way, they knew that what ne said would change many votes, for the Italian dearly loves to be on the winning side. Cossio was feared, then, by his own people, and by the politicians, and so for many years he did a good business and made money. His thrifty countrymen brought their dollars to his bank, and he charged the unfortunate a good percentage when they came to borrow from him. The contractors sent to him for their hundreds of men, and the workers on the railroads came around once a year and put their names down in his books. Cossio charged the contractors for furnishing the men, and made the labourers pay when he put their names down in his books. In his way Cossio was charitable. He had his pew in the little church in Baxter street, and contributed to all the charities of the Franciscan Brothers. His charities did not hurt him with his fellow-country-men. They admired him all the more for them. There were some, indeed, who would have loved him but for their great fear of him. The prophet found his position in the world very comfortable. So- fortunate had be been in the past that he began to look upon the future as assured. The good things of life added girth to his waistcoat, and so when he reached ins fifty-fifth birthday he put his business in the hands of his young cousin and sat down to smoke his pipe. “Now,” said he, “I will eat my walnuts.” But then a thunder stroke came out of the clear sky, for one day,, as he sat at his ease, the word came to him that Francisco Balenti and Peppino Valentino were about to start a bank in opposition to him. They intended to pay a larger rate of interest to depositors, the awful report declared, and did not intend to charge the thriftless so much for their loans. The old man laughed at first. The report could not be true, he told himself : but then half a. dozen friends came in with the same story, and finally he was compelled to believe it. When he was persuaded that Francisco and Peppino "-‘were really in earnest he knew exactly what to do. In great wrath he put on his coat and strode down to the City Hall for consultation with the alderman, his son-in-law. That young man thought for a few moments, and then he whispered a few words into the old man’s ear. Cossio straightened up at once, and something like a grim smile ca-me into his face. “I will do it,” he said; “and then let them dare to do this thing. Not once have mv prophesies failed.” Then he. hurried back to Mulbery street and found Francisco and Peppino, with a dozen men at work fixing up their offices. In the street were a hundred men, women, and children, watching the ethers at work, and in lond, shrill voices commenting upon what had been done and offering all sorts of advice. When they saw Cossio thev stopped their noise and made wav for him. He appi’oached the men at work, and all who saw him dropped their arms and looked at him. It was easily to he seen that he was angry, but he held out his hand to ihe two would-be bankers, and greeted them as if they were his dearest friends. “What is this that the roof-tops tell me?” he asked. Francisco, who was the abler financier of the budding firm and the strong man at its head, was brave enough, but his partner turned pale and began to tremble. He knew that something was about lo happen, but he feared to think what it would be. The head of tho firm spoke

up and told Cossio the story that he had already heard. The prophet could restrain himself no longer when he heard the worst of it. “Curse you for fools!” ho cried. Peppino was white with fear, and would gladly have thrown up the whole business then and there, but l'rancisco merely smiled, and said with great bravery: “Curses grow on tree-tops. Any pauper ran buy and sell you a thousand.’’ The common people held their breath and crowded about the three men. The working men had ceased all pretence of labour. Cossio saw his opportunity. “When do you open your bank?” he asked. Francisco told him. “Then hear me!” thundered the prophet, and he raised his hands above his head. “Then hear me!” he repeated. “The day you open your office, I prophesy—and who here has heard me prophesy in vain?—that day will be the last day you will spend on earth. Vou shall be stricken down as you enter this house. Your hands shall be like a leaf, an awful disease shall take you, and you shall die. Die !' he cried again. Peppino would have fallen to the ground in a faint had not a. friend supported him. Francisco was very pale. The common people shuddered and drew awav from the partners. Cossio looked at the trembling men once more, and then turned his back upon them and left them. In a second the street was deserted ; only Francisco and Peppino remained. Even the working men fled from them as if thev had a plague. Peppino moaned and sobbed. “We are dead men,” he cried. “Nonsense!” exclaimed Francisco, who, now that he was alone, began to feel his courage come back to him. It would be needless to say that he was not frightened. He was, and very much so; but the absence of his enemymade things clearer to him. And besides, he was'a y brave man. So he tried to cheer up his partner, and in doing so he soon regained most of his lost courage. “Why,” he cried, “should we die simply because we happen to open a bank?” “But Michael Cossio!” moaned Peppino. “Did he ever prophesy in vain?” “No—o—o!” Francisco had to reply, despite himself; “but then ” “Ah, but then,” the miserable Peppino wailed, “but then we are dead men.” Francisco was foot free, and had no woman to play on his fears, and every hour therefore gave him new courage. With Peppino things were different. Be had a wife and several children, and when he reached his home he found that they had heard the awful story, and were ill tears and half wild with grief. Then the poor man gave up in despair, and the very little courage that had come to him from Francisco fled now altogether. “There is but on© thing for you to do,” cried his wife. “And that is to see Michael Cossio, ’• her husband moaned. “And at once. Be quick! Oh, be quick!” So Peppino, late as it was, raji all the way to Cossio’s home. He found the old gentleman alone. In a few words he told him that he had repented. He would start no bank, he cried. It was his money that was to have been put into the business, he said. Was there nothing that he could do to do away with that awful prophecy? Peppino wept and fell on his knees and wept again. Cossio's heart was touched. He thought for some moments, while the man at ms feet suffered awful agonies. * “Well,” he said, and Peppino’s heart jumped with joy, “I have prophesied, but if the bank be not opened, then you will not die.” “Ala!” cried Peppino, beside himself with joy. “Not a word cf this, though, to anyone,” said Cossio. “Not a word!” cried Peppino. “Not to Francisco!” “Not to Francisco.” The poor man was ready to give away his soul, let alone his promise. “How much money has Francisco; ’ asked Cossio. “Nothing,” replied Peppino; “not a cent. He persuaded me to put my one thousand five hundred dollars into the bank, and we were to be rich, he said. ’ “Ah,” exclaimed the prophet, “and you, the innocent victim, were to suffer, borne, my son. You must put your one thousand five hundred dollars into my bank. I will not charge you one cent for keeping it. And then at the end of the year—well, my young cousin is not the man I would like best to have in charge of my bank, and at the end of the year—well, we cannot tell what may happen then.” Peppino wept, but it was with joy this time. He embraced the prophet again and again, and when he was dismissed he fairly flew home to his wife with the joyful tidings. It was on the very next day that he told Francisco that the new bank was not to he. Francisco stormed, and stormed in vain. Peppino had made up his mind and was not to be shaken this time from his determination. So word went round that dav in Mulberry street that Francisco Balenti and Peppino Valentino would not open their new bank. Despite Francisco’s insinuations everyone knew why the partners had given up their idea, and everyone was glad that, the awful prophecy made by Michael Cossio had been gainsaid so easily; for Francisco was liked by the young women, and the r,ld women were fond of Peppino's wife and children. Then Francisco went away into the coalfields, and by the time that the end of the year came and Peppino became the manager of Michael Cossio’s bank, all recollection of the prophet’s awful words had faded away, except in the hearts of tho new manager and his wife and little ones. As for Cossio, he is still the prophet of Mulberry street.