[He crosses and goes out by the lower arch on the right.
[He crosses and goes out by the lower arch on the right.
Pringle.
[To theProfessor.] Seems to me that Oriental hospitality has been rather over-rated!
Professor Futvoye.
[Gloomily.] Ah! I know I wish I'd ordered our cab for ten o'clock, instead of eleven! Receiving us with all this ostentation, and yet grudging us the most ordinary comforts—Ican'tunderstand it!
Pringle.
[Rising.] It may be his notion of humour. [As he moves across toSylvia.] If you and Mrs. Futvoye and Miss Sylvia will only give me the pleasure of dining with me some night at the Holborn,—or rather the Savoy—I would endeavour to wipe out the memory of this evening's sufferings.
[He takesHorace'splace bySylvia'sside.
[He takesHorace'splace bySylvia'sside.
Professor Futvoye.
Whenever you please, my dear Pringle, whenever you please,—and the sooner the better! Sophia! [He turns toMrs. Futvoye,and discovers that she is gently dozing.] Asleep! How she candoit!—but I won't disturb her now. [ToHorace,who returns from arch down right.] Well? Have you found your cigars?
Horace.
[Standing in centre depressed.] No. There's nothing in there—except that beastly brass bottle. Iamso sorry!
Sylvia.
[Rising and going toHorace.] Horace! Itisall over, isn't it? You'resurethere's nothingmoreto come?
[Pringle,finding himself deserted, returns to his place on the divan by theProfessor.
[Pringle,finding himself deserted, returns to his place on the divan by theProfessor.
Horace.
[Looking round anxiously.] I—Ihopenot. No, I think we're all right. We shall have no more trouble now all those black Johnnies have cleared out.
[At this moment there is a confused sound of Oriental instruments outside, with wailing cries.Sylviaturns fromHorace,and goes back indignantly to the divan on the left.Horacefollows, and sits by her.
[At this moment there is a confused sound of Oriental instruments outside, with wailing cries.Sylviaturns fromHorace,and goes back indignantly to the divan on the left.Horacefollows, and sits by her.
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Waking up as the music stops.] Dear me! Whatisthat horrible noise? Not cats?
Professor Futvoye.
Cats! No,—it's Arab music! [ToHorace.] So you've afreshsurprise in store for us, eh, sir?
Horace.
[Forlornly.] It—itdoessound rather like it, Professor.
[Four negro musicians enter, playing a tom-tom, mandoline, flageolet, and native fiddle respectively, while they chant a weird ditty, and sit cross-legged, right and left of the central arch.
[Four negro musicians enter, playing a tom-tom, mandoline, flageolet, and native fiddle respectively, while they chant a weird ditty, and sit cross-legged, right and left of the central arch.
Sylvia.
[As the music stops.] Horace, this is reallytoobad of you! Youassuredme there was nothing more coming!
[She turns her shoulder on him with marked displeasure.
[She turns her shoulder on him with marked displeasure.
Pringle.
So you keep a private band, do you, Ventimore?
Horace.
No, no,—of course I don't. It—it's only engaged for the evening.
Pringle.
I see. Hired from the Arab encampment at Earl's Court, eh?
Horace.
[Irritated.] You've guessed it first time, Pringle!
Pringle.
That's odd. Because, now I come to think of it, thereisn'tany Arab encampment there this season.
Horace.
Then they come from somewhere else. At all events, they're playing here for nothing.
Professor Futvoye.
Ah! They know their own value!
Mrs. Futvoye.
Now, Anthony, you're finding fault before they've evenbegun! [She rises.] That was onlytuning, of course! [She passes in front of theMusicians,and then comes down toHorace.] Can they playEnglishmusic?Doask them if they know "The Choristers."
Horace.
I'm afraid they're not at all likely to be familiar with it.
[TheMusiciansbegin once more, andMrs. Futvoyeretreats hastily to the divan, as they sing and play for a few bars in hideous cacophony.
[TheMusiciansbegin once more, andMrs. Futvoyeretreats hastily to the divan, as they sing and play for a few bars in hideous cacophony.
Pringle.
[As they stop once more.] Vocal aswellas instrumental, eh? Are they going to give us anymorelittle things like that, Ventimore?
Horace.
No. Not if I know it! They'vedonenow!
[At this the music starts again, louder and more discordant than ever.
[At this the music starts again, louder and more discordant than ever.
Professor Futvoye.
[Springing to his feet in a fury, and shouting.] Ventimore! Youmustput a stop to this abominable din! Do you hear? I can't and won't put up with it!
Horace.
[Rising, and going to theMusicians.] Here, you chaps! Hi! That's enough! [He claps his hands.] Get out! Getout!
[TheMusiciansseem to treat this as an encouragement, for they play with more vigour than ever; then, as they reach the climax, the music changes to slower strains, in which some sort of air is recognisable, and a troop ofOriental Dancing Girlscome writhing and posturing in from the arches on right and left of the centre arch.Horacerecoils in horror, and collapses on the divan bySylvia'sside.
[TheMusiciansseem to treat this as an encouragement, for they play with more vigour than ever; then, as they reach the climax, the music changes to slower strains, in which some sort of air is recognisable, and a troop ofOriental Dancing Girlscome writhing and posturing in from the arches on right and left of the centre arch.Horacerecoils in horror, and collapses on the divan bySylvia'sside.
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Making her voice carry above the music.] And do these young persons come from Earl's Court,too?
Horace.
[Wildly.] No! Oh,dearno!Theycome from—from Harrod's. The Entertainment Department, don't you know!
[He sits paralysed as thePrincipal Dancing Girlsuddenly floats down from the central arch, and executes a slow and sinuous Oriental dance in the middle of the other performers. TheProfessorand hiswife exchange scandalised comments, andPringleendeavours to look shocked and grieved.
[He sits paralysed as thePrincipal Dancing Girlsuddenly floats down from the central arch, and executes a slow and sinuous Oriental dance in the middle of the other performers. TheProfessorand hiswife exchange scandalised comments, andPringleendeavours to look shocked and grieved.
Horace.
[As thePrincipal Dancing Girlhas glided down opposite him, and stands posturing, with her eyes fixed on his face; toSylvia.] I—I don't think she'sbad.
Sylvia.
[Coldly.] Don't you? I'm perfectlysureshe is!
Horace.
No, no. She—she's aladyand all that. Theyallare. Highly respectable girls! They only give their dances atprivateparties.
Sylvia.
I don't think you need have engaged them foryours!Really, Horace!
[The music stops; all, except thePrincipal Dancer,who remains standing and smiling atHorace,fall on their hands and faces in a line across the stage.
[The music stops; all, except thePrincipal Dancer,who remains standing and smiling atHorace,fall on their hands and faces in a line across the stage.
Horace.
It was a mistake. But I'll get rid of them! [He rises and goes towards thePrincipal Dancer.] It's charming—charming—but that willdo, you know. You can go away now. You canallof you go away!
[ThePrincipal Dancing Girl,with a swift, sudden movement, throws herself at his feet and embraces his knees;Sylviastarts up indignantly. TheProfessor,Mrs. Futvoye,andPringlerise also.
[ThePrincipal Dancing Girl,with a swift, sudden movement, throws herself at his feet and embraces his knees;Sylviastarts up indignantly. TheProfessor,Mrs. Futvoye,andPringlerise also.
Principal Dancing Girl.
[In Arabic, in a tone of adoring submission.] Yah Sîdî! Yah noor ainy! Yah nass al Kalbi Sîdî!
Horace.
[To the others.] She is a little hysterical, that's all—the artistic temperament. [As he succeeds in freeing himself.] I don't know what on earth she's talking about! Ifancyshe says she's feeling seedy.
Professor Futvoye.
[Who has come down on the right.] "Sîdî"—as you may well know—is the ordinary Arabic word for "Master," and, if I follow her correctly, she is calling you her Protector, the Light of her Eyes, and the Vital Spirit of her Heart!
[ThePrincipal Dancing Girlhas fallen on her hands and face in front of the others.
[ThePrincipal Dancing Girlhas fallen on her hands and face in front of the others.
Sylvia.
Oh! Sothisis what you were trying to confess to me!
Horace.
She's quitemistaken, you know.I'mnot the light of her eyes, I've never seen her before in all my life!
Sylvia.
You think I believethat! [She rushes across toMrs. Futvoye.] Oh, mother—mother!
Horace.
Professor,youknow Arabic. Couldn't you get these people to understand that they aren't wanted?
Professor Futvoye.
[Coming forward.] I intend to. [In Arabic.] Eerga dugghery gowan illa bait bettah Harrood!
[As he speaks all the dancing girls raise their heads in horror, then rise screaming and holding their hands to their ears, and rush out through arches, followed by the musicians. The moment they disappear through the arches all is silent.
[As he speaks all the dancing girls raise their heads in horror, then rise screaming and holding their hands to their ears, and rush out through arches, followed by the musicians. The moment they disappear through the arches all is silent.
Pringle.
[Coming down to centre.] They weren't long in takingyourhint, Professor. Whatdidyou say to them?
Professor Futvoye.
[Rather puzzled.] I merely told them, in the best Arabic I could command, to go back to Harrod's at once.
Mrs. Futvoye.
I am quite sure they cannot have come fromHarrod's!
Horace.
You're perfectly right, Mrs. Futvoye. Theydidn't.
Professor Futvoye.
[Advancing to him.] Afterthatadmission, you will hardly be surprised if I tell you—as Ido—that youmay consider your engagement to my daughter at an end.
Horace.
At an end! Why, what have Idone?
Professor Futvoye.
Done, sir, done? You askthat, after grossly insulting my wife and daughter by this—this outrageous exhibition!
[He goes up, followed byPringle.
[He goes up, followed byPringle.
Horace.
[Going toMrs. Futvoye.] Mrs. Futvoye,youdon't misunderstand me, I'm sure?
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Icily.] Foronce, I entirely agree with my husband, and I believe Sylvia herself will tell you——
[She turns, and joins theProfessoron the left.
[She turns, and joins theProfessoron the left.
Horace.
No, she won't?Willyou, Sylvia?Youwon't give me up?
Sylvia.
What elsecanI do?
Horace.
What else? Why, trust me, stick to me—in spite of everything and everybody!
Sylvia.
After what I've just seen! No, that'stoomuch to expect!—unless, of course, you've some satisfactory explanation?
Horace.
Well, Ihave—if you'll all promise tolistento it—you wouldn't when I tried to explain before, you know. Now youmusthear me out! [They all prepare to listen attentively.] It's like this. Sylvia wasn't far wrong about that beastly jar I bought this afternoon—therewasa Jinnee inside it.
Professor Futvoye.All speaking together.What? How dare you, sir—howdareyou trifle with us like this?)Mrs. Futvoye.Disgraceful! To stand there talking such nonsense—at such a time!)Sylvia.Turning it all into ajoke! Oh, how can you—howcanyou?)Pringle.Upon my word, Ventimore, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!)
Horace.
There youare, you see! Youwon'tgive me a hearing! Ioughtto know what was inside thebottle, considering I let it out. Fakrash-el—whatdid he tell me his name was?—oh, Aamash—Fakrash-el-Aamash. He's a Jinnee. Of theGreenJinn.
Pringle.
Well,we'renot Green Jennies!
Horace.
[Losing his temper.] Shut up, Pringle! This ismystory—and you'll be good enough to let me finish it. Well, according to old Fakrash, he'd been sealed up in that bottle by Solomon——
Professor Futvoye.
What, in the name of common sense, has all this to do with the case?
Horace.
I'm coming to that, if you'll only have a little patience. Naturally, he was grateful to me for letting him out, and, in a weak moment, I—I blurted out that you were all coming to dinner here to-night. And what does the old idiot do but transform my rooms into these halls, and provide the whole entertainment himself! And—as might be expected—it was pretty rotten!
[He sinks on the divan on right in despair, as he sees the general incredulity.
[He sinks on the divan on right in despair, as he sees the general incredulity.
Professor Futvoye.
Ha! And you seriously expect us to believe this cock-and-bull story as an explanation—unsupported by any kind of proof?
Horace.
Notunsupported, Professor! How about these halls?
Professor Futvoye.
Theyare only evidence of your unbridled extravagance, sir! Where is this precious Jinnee you talk about? Produce him—let me see him with my own eyes, and I might—but, bah! you won't venture to accept that challenge, I'm sure of that!
[He crosses toMrs. FutvoyeandPringle.
[He crosses toMrs. FutvoyeandPringle.
Horace.
It's unfortunate—but Fakrash has—er—left the country. I don't expect him back for some time—if at all.
Professor Futvoye.
Nor I, sir, norI! Sophia, you and Sylvia had better go to the vestibule and get your things on.
Mrs. Futvoye.
I am only too anxious to go. [ToSylvia.] Come, darling.
[She moves towards arch on right.
[She moves towards arch on right.
Sylvia.
[In sudden alarm.] Mother!Notwith all those horrid dancing-girls and things!They'rein there!
Mrs. Futvoye.
[At arch.] Trust me to deal withthem!
[She goes out withSylvia.
[She goes out withSylvia.
Professor Futvoye.
[Going up and calling after them.] Make haste, Sophia! We must walk till we get a cab, that's all!
Horace.
[Who has risen.] Professor, don't go yet. I've just remembered. If you'll only wait a moment, I believe I can bring you something to prove I've been telling the simple truth.
[He goes out by lower arch on right.
[He goes out by lower arch on right.
Professor Futvoye.
[ApproachingPringle.] "Prove he's been telling the truth!" You heardthat, Pringle? Did you ever hear such bare-faced impudence in all your life?
Pringle.
[Virtuously.] Never, Professor, never! Iquiteshare your indignation. Perhaps I may be allowed to accompany you? I am going your way.
Professor Futvoye.
Do so, Pringle; do so, my dear fellow. As we may have to walk some distance, my daughter will be glad of your escort. [AsMrs. FutvoyeandSylviaappear from arch up right.] Ah, they're ready, I see. Go and get your coat on and bring mine, and we'll leave at once.
Pringle.
[With alacrity, as he goes up.] By all means, Professor! I won't be a minute.
[He goes out by the arch up right.
[He goes out by the arch up right.
Horace.
[Returning at the same moment from lower arch on right.] I've had a hunt—but I've found it. [He offers a metal cap to theProfessor.] Now, if you'll only examinethis, Professor.
Professor Futvoye.
What do you mean by offering me that piece of dirty old metal, sir? Take the thing away!
Horace.
It's the cap or stopper that belongs to that brass bottle. And, I don't know, but I rather fancy there's something engraved on it.
Professor Futvoye.
Eh, what? [He takes the cap.] So far as I can tell by feeling it, theredoesseem to be—but what if there is—what if thereis?
Horace.
Well, itmightrefer to a Jinnee having been bottled up by Solomon, don't you know.
Professor Futvoye.
Bah!—but no matter. [He slips the cap into his tail-coat pocket.] Whatever it is, Iwillexamine this inscription—after breakfast to-morrow morning. [Triumphantly.] And I shalldecipherit, sir,—you may depend upon that! [ToPringle,who returns with coat and helps him into it.] Thank you, my boy, thank you. Now, Sophia,—if you are ready!
Mrs. Futvoye.
I am only waiting foryou, Anthony. [Frostily, toHorace.] Mr. Ventimore, I will wish you good-night.
[She goes out by central arch.
[She goes out by central arch.
Pringle.
[ApproachingSylvia.] Good-night, Ventimore. Miss Sylvia—[offering his arm]—I am to have the privilege of taking care of you.
Sylvia.
[Declining his arm.] Thank you, Mr. Pringle,—but I can quite well take care of myself. [She turns toHorace.] Horace, I want to say just this before I go—Iwilltrust you still,—in spite of everything and everybody!
Horace.
[Putting his arm round her.] You littlebrick! And you won't have to go on trusting memuchlonger!
Professor Futvoye.
[Interposing and separating them.] That she will not, sir! Let her go! [HoracereleasesSylvia,who goes up towards central arch,Horaceattempting to follow her, when he is stopped by theProfessor.] Stay where you are!
[SylviaandPringlepass through to the outer hall.
[SylviaandPringlepass through to the outer hall.
Horace.
Surely I may go as far as the door with her!
Professor Futvoye.
[By the central arch.] Not another step, sir! One last word. This precious seal of yours will enable me to expose you as a shameless liar. That is all I have to say.Goodevening.
[He goes out. Pause, the front door is heard to slam.
[He goes out. Pause, the front door is heard to slam.
Horace.
[To himself, in despair.] Gone! She's gone! [He flings himself down on the divan on the left, with his face to the audience.] The Professor may be right—the sealmayn'tbe Solomon's! How doIknow old Fakrash hasn't been lying? And if he has—well, I'm done for! [Fakrashsuddenly appears through the hangings, comes down to the divan, and touchesHoraceon the shoulder;Horacestarts, then swings round to a sitting posture, facingFakrash.] Eh? So youhavecome back!
Fakrash.
[Benevolently.] May thy head long survive!
Horace.
[Choking with rage.] If you'd only turned up four minutes earlier I could have introduced you to my guests. It's too latenow!
Fakrash.
Thou hast dismissed them already?
Horace.
They've gone, anyhow.
Fakrash.
[Beaming.] And were they not astounded by the magnificence of thy dwelling and the liberality of their entertainment?
Horace.
Distinctly so. But I warn you—don't you press me on the subject of that entertainment. I can't trust myself to talk about it just yet.
Fakrash.
Render me no thanks.
Horace.
[Exasperated.] Thanks!Thanks!!
Fakrash.
I perceive that something hath displeased thee.
Horace.
[With an angry laugh.] No,doyou? You're getting quite observant! Something jolly wellhasdispleased me. Not so much the banquet—I could pass that—wedidpassmostof it! [Rising.] It was what cameafterthe banquet!
Fakrash.
After the banquet I provided that a company of houris, lovelier than the full moon and graceful as young gazelles, should dance for the delight of thy guests. [With uneasiness.] Can I have failed in bringing this to pass?
Horace.
[Bitterly.] Oh, you broughtthatoff all right—the houriscame! [With rising resentment.] And what do you think the Chief Gazelledid?... Hugged my knees and called me her lord and protector and the light of her eyes! Pretty good that—for a gazelle!
Fakrash.
[With a fatuous smile of approval.] Excellent indeed!
Horace.
[Turning on him.] Perhaps, when I tell you that the company included the young lady I was engaged to marry—andher father and mother, and that they put the most unfavourable construction on the houri's behaviour, itmaybegin to dawn, even onyou, that you might have been more tactful! I'velostSylvia now—and all through you and your confounded gazelle!
Fakrash.
[Pulling his beard, and appearing slightly disconcerted.] Verily thy fortune is unlucky! But dismiss uneasiness, for to remedy this mischance will be the simplest thing possible.
Horace.
[More mildly.] Oh, if you'll dothat! But how?
Fakrash.
[Standing in centre of hall.] By procuring thee another bride of far greater beauty and accomplishments.
Horace.
[Striding past him in a fury.]Another!You—youhopelessold ass!Can'tyou understand?
Fakrash.
[Seizing his arm, and bringing him down the stage.] Wait! Thou hast not yet heard the list of her perfections. A forehead shall she have like the gleaming dome of a temple, eyes like unto blazing lamps, a nose that shineth brighter than a sword, teeth resembling pearls strung on native gold, a bosom——
Horace.
Stop, I tell you! I don'twanther—I won'thaveher! I want Sylvia, and I'll marry nobody else! Just getthatinto your muddled old head, will you! If you can't pull me out of this mess you've got me into, why the deuce have you come back at all?
[He sits on the divan on left.
[He sits on the divan on left.
Fakrash.
I am returned to impart unto thee wondrous intelligence.
Horace.
Oh? Well, fire away. Take a cushion.
[Flinging him one from the divan.
[Flinging him one from the divan.
Fakrash.
[Squatting on cushion.] Hearken! During my wanderings I have learnt that, beyond all doubt, Suleymán, the son of Dáood, sleeps with his fathers!
Horace.
As a matter of fact, he's been doing that for about three thousand years.
Fakrash.
Sayest thou so? Then—[cunningly]—tell me. Doth there still remain any one of Suleymán's seed that exerciseth his authority over them of the Jinn?
Horace.
No. As soon as you've made things right forme, you can go off to your own country and settle down comfortably—there's no power on earth that can interfere with you.
Fakrash.
Then—before I do thee any further service—bring hither the stopper wherewith my bottle was sealed.
Horace.
[Uneasily.] The—the stopper? Oh, nonsense! You can't want thatnow! What for? As asouvenir?
Fakrash.
Nay, but because in all likelihood it is engraven with the mighty seal of Suleymán.
Horace.
[Rising excitedly.] I say! Are yousureof that?
Fakrash.
So it was customary with such vessels. And, bearing such a seal, I shall possess a mighty talisman. [Rising from his cushion.] Wherefore deliver it into my hands without delay, and I will reward thee by accomplishing all thy desires.
Horace.
[In extreme embarrassment.] I—I'd be only too happy to oblige you—if I could. But—well, the fact is, I've just parted with it.
Fakrash.
[Advancing on him in sudden fury.]Partedwith it! With my seal! O thou of little sense! To whom? Towhom, I say?
Horace.
To the father of the lady I was engaged to. He's a learned man, you see, and I knew, if therewasanything engraved on the seal, he'd be able to make it out.
Fakrash.
[Striding up and down the hall, and brandishing his arms.] Perdition seize thee! For he will assuredly refuse to surrender such a talisman! Woe to me, for I am undone! Undone! Undone!
Horace.
Don't talk rot! Youaren'tundone—and nobody wants to undo you! [Fakrashutters wild cries.] Don't go howling about like that—sit down again and be sensible.
Fakrash.
[Halting oppositeHorace,with a menacing gesture.] Take heed to thyself! For if thou dost not restore my seal immediately——!
Horace.
[Facing him composedly.] It's no good trying to bullyme, you know.I'mnot afraid of you. You sit down and be civil, and promise to do exactly as I tell you—or I'm hanged if I help you to get your seal back.
Fakrash.
[With sudden self-restraint.] My son, it was naught! Am I not thy servant? On the head and eye be all thy commands!
[He sits down on the cushion.
[He sits down on the cushion.
Horace.
Ah, that's better! [He goes to the divan and gets himself a cushion, then sits facingFakrash.] Now I'lltell you an idea that's just struck me—the Professor said himself that nothing would convince him but seeing you with his own eyes. Well—why shouldn't yougoto him?
Fakrash.
[Eagerly.] Tell me where he hath his abode, and I will visit him this same instant.
[About to rise.
[About to rise.
Horace.
[Stopping him.] No, you don't! Just when he'll be turning in! You'll go about ten o'clock to-morrow morning, when he's had his breakfast—or you won't go at all!
Fakrash.
Be it so! I will restrain my impatience until the morrow. But the place of his dwelling?
Horace.
Wait a bit. I won't have him rattled. [Fakrashlooks puzzled.] I mean, no popping up through the floor or down the chimney. You'll just walk quietly up to his front door, and ask to see him. Then you can explain who you are and what you want, and, if you're decently polite, I'm sure the Professor will give you back your property.
Fakrash.
All these instructions will I observe.
Horace.
But you can't go inthatget-up, or you'll have a crowd of small boys at your heels. Couldn't you raisethe sort of costume respectable elderly gentlemen go about in nowadays?
Fakrash.
I hear and obey. To assume such garb as is worn by aged dwellers in this city will be the simplest affair possible!
Horace.
All right, then. And you must go to No. 47 Cottesmore Gardens, Kensington, and ask whoever lets you in if you may see Professor Futvoye. Think you can remember all that?
Fakrash.
[Rising.] Indelibly is it inscribed upon the tablet of memory. To-morrow, then, at the appointed hour, will I repair to the abode of this sage.
Horace.
[Who has risen at the same time asFakrash,and thrown the cushions back on the divan.] Good! And you'd better come on to me afterwards and let me know how you got on. Nothere—at my office, Great College Street, Westminster. Gotthatdown on your tablet?
Fakrash.
It is done. And now, O young man of abundant talents and obliging disposition, I will take my leave of thee. [Going to centre of hall.] For I must seek my Palace in the Garden of Irem and repose myselfuntil it be day. But—[turning]—ere I depart, tell me by what service I can reward thy kindness?
Horace.
Well,—if youreallywant to do me a good turn,—you might change these halls again.
Fakrash.
What? Are they insufficient for thy dignity?
Horace.
No, no—they're much too grand! I—I want my old rooms back!
Fakrash.
[Pained.] Of what avail is it to confer favours uponthee, since thou rejectest them every one!
Horace.
[Approaching him, and speaking soothingly.] No, not every one. There was old Wackerbath—the client you sent me—I haven't rejectedhim. I'm going to build him a country-house.
Fakrash.
Ha! And on what spot is this mansion to be erected?
Horace.
Oh, he seems to have got an excellent site—on a hill near Lipsfield, between Hampshire and Surrey.
Fakrash.
[Touching his own brow.] It is on the tablet! And have no anxiety,—for the palace that will arise shall assuredly be the wonder of the universe!
Horace.
Very kind of you to say so—when I haven't even begun to work at it yet. And now—about these halls? [Persuasively.] Youwillturn 'em back into my old rooms, won't you? You're such a deuced clever old Johnny—I mean,Jinnee!
Fakrash.
Into the mean habitation in which I found thee? Far be this action from me!
Horace.
[Impatiently.] Oh, I'm sick ofarguingwith you—Icommandyou. On the head and on the eye!
Rapkin's Voice.
[From the outer hall.] Mr. Ventimore! I want awordwith you!
Horace.
[ToFakrash,quickly.] You hear? That's my landlord,—it'shishouse, not mine. Just you change it—quick—before he comes in!
Fakrash.
[Standing in centre.] Since thou insisteth. And beof light heart, for by to-morrow all thine affairs will prosper exceedingly!