Chapter 8

[As he speaksMr. Wackerbathbustles in from the door below the arch on the left.Horacegoes forward to meet him,Pringleremaining by the fireplace in wrathful astonishment.

Mr. Wackerbath.

[Shaking hands effusively withHorace.] MydearMr. Ventimore, I really don't knowhowto apologise, neither the wife nor myself down to receive you! I do hope you haven't been waiting long?

Horace.

Only just come, I assure you.

Mr. Wackerbath.

We have a private room, you see—the wife prefers it to the—ah—publicity of the restaurant. [TheFirstandSecond Waitersenter from the door on the left above the arch.] If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll just see how they've arranged the table. [He bustles up to the table.] Why, hullo! What'sthis? Only four places! I ordered dinner forsix!

First Waiter.

I regret—but it is not my fault. I lay for six, and a gentleman assure me I am wrong, it is for four person only.

Mr. Wackerbath.

Don'ttalkabout it—put it right at once. I want a chair in here—and another here.

[He remains by the table, while theWaitersreplace chairs and bring back plates, glasses, &c.

Pringle.

[ToHorace.] Ventimore! [Horacecrosses to fireplace.] Will you kindly explain to your host thatthat'smydinner-table he's taking these liberties with?

Horace.

I know nothing about it. You had better settle that with him yourself.

Pringle.

I intend to—presently.

[He stands, nursing his grievance, asMr. Wackerbathcomes down toHorace.

Mr. Wackerbath.

[ToHorace.] Those fellows seem to have mistaken their orders. Lucky I noticed it in time! [Mrs. Wackerbathenters from the door below arch.] Ah, hereismy wife! Eliza, my dear—[presentingHorace]—our friend, Mr. Ventimore.

Mrs. Wackerbath.

[ToHorace,cordially, but with a nervous, fluttered manner.] Oh, how do youdo? Iamso pleased to meet you! I've been hearing somuchabout you from my husband. [She goes to sofa on the left, and sits.] It will besodelightful to have a home at last that isreallyfit to live in!

[Pringle,hearing this, makes a contemptuous ejaculation to himself.

Mr. Wackerbath.

[ToHorace.] I ought to tell you this is quite animpromptulittle affair. The wife only came up thismorning for a day or two in town, and asked some old friends of ours to dinner. So I wired to you on the off-chance of your being free to come and meet them.

Mrs. Wackerbath.

So kind of you to come on such short notice!

Horace.

I was delighted.

Mrs. Wackerbath.

[Suddenly realisingPringle'spresence; toMr. Wackerbath.] But, Samuel, aren't you forgetting to introduce your other guest?

Horace.

[To himself foreseeing trouble.] Good Lord!

[He goes up round the table to the glazed balcony.

Mr. Wackerbath.

[Surprised, toMrs. Wackerbath.] Myother——? I was not aware——[He turns and seesPringle,and advances to him.] You must excuse me, sir, but I didn't see you before. I—ah—haven't the pleasure of knowing your name—at present.

Pringle.

[Coming forward.] My name is Pringle.Yours—[meaningly]—is quite well known to me, Mr. Wackerbath.

Mr. Wackerbath.

[Gratified, but not surprised.] Ha! Very good of you to say so. And I needn't tell you that any friend of Mr. Ventimore's——

Pringle.

[Tartly.] I am not here in that capacity, sir. I am here because I also am expecting friends to dine with me. And I was certainly given to understand that this room had been reserved for myownparty.

Mrs. Wackerbath.

[In some distress.] Oh, dear! Iamso sorry. I'm afraidI'mto blame. I asked the manager for this room—he told me it was engaged, but he would arrange for you to have the "Patience" Room instead.

Pringle.

I can only assure you that this is the firstI'veheard of it, or else——

Mrs. Wackerbath.

[Rising.] Iquitethought it would be explained to you, and I do sohopethe change hasn't put you to any great inconvenience?

Pringle.

[Sourly.] I'm afraid, Mrs. Wackerbath, it has put my guests to considerable inconvenience, as they have presumably been shown into the "Patience"Room, and been waiting there for nearly half an hour—if they haven't already left! So—[making a movement towards the arch]—if you will kindly permit me——

Horace.

[Coming down, and intercepting him; in an under>tone.] You won't find them there, Pringle. They haven't come. Theywon'tcome now, I assure you.

Professor's Voice.

[On left, outside door above arch.] This must be the room, Sophia—I observe "Pinafore" on the door.

Pringle.

[In a triumphant undertone toHorace,who is completely staggered.] There! Who's rightnow? Iknewthey wouldn't forget!

[He advances to the end of the sofa by fireplace to receive theFutvoyes,whileHoraceeffaces himself so far as possible in the corner behind the flower-stand.

Horace.

[To himself in despair.] That oldfoolof a Fakrash! He's muffed it again!

[TheFutvoyesenter;Mrs. Futvoyefirst, thenSylvia,and theProfessorbringing up the rear.

Pringle.

[Cheerily, toMrs. Futvoye.] Aha!

[His welcome dies away as they all pass on without seeming to notice any one butMr.andMrs. Wackerbath,who advance from the left to receive them.Pringleretreats slightly, and looks on in speechless indignation.

Mr. Wackerbath.

My dear Mrs. Futvoye, delighted to see you—delighted! [AsMrs. FutvoyegreetsMrs. Wackerbath,toSylvia.] And this smart young woman is my little god-daughter, eh? How d'ye do, my dear? [ToProfessor.] And how is our excellent Professor?

[They converse in by-play;Mrs. WackerbathtakesMrs. Futvoyeto sofa on left;Sylviagoes up towards arch to a place from which she can see neitherHoracenorPringle.

Mrs. Wackerbath.

[ToMrs. Futvoye,as they seat themselves.] Dearest

Sophia! We meet so seldom now!

Mrs. Futvoye.

We do indeed, Eliza!

[They talk in undertones.

Pringle.

[By fireplace, to himself, with the deepest disgust.] First my room, and then my guests!

Mr. Wackerbath.

[Turning toMrs. Futvoye,as theProfessorjoinsSylvia.] I want to introduce a friend of ours—very rising young fellow——[He looks round forHorace,and discovers him by the flower stand.] Ah,therehe is—Mr. Ventimore. [Horacepulls himself together and comes forward, not in the least knowing what reception to expect.] Mr. Ventimore, Mrs. Anthony Futvoye.

[Horacebows in considerable anxiety.

Mrs. Futvoye.

Why, my dear Mr. Wackerbath, we know one another quite well already! [ToHorace,laughing.] Don't we, Horace?

[Horacetakes her hand with obvious relief.

Sylvia.

[Coming down smiling, betweenMr. WackerbathandHorace.] How are you, Horace?

[Horaceshakes hands warmly with her.

Professor Futvoye.

[Approaching asMr. Wackerbathturns to his wife andMrs. Futvoye,toHoracenot over cordially, but without asperity.] How are you, Ventimore? Curious we should meet like this! We were talking about you on our way here—that little dinner of yours, you know.

Horace.

[With reviving anxiety.] That—little dinner, Professor?

Sylvia.

Yes, Horace, wecouldn'tremember which night it is we're dining with you—is it to-morrow, or the night after?

Horace.

[Relieved again.] Oh, it's to-morrow—to-morrow!

[Pringlehas heard all this with a contempt and disgust that are indicated by his expression.

Sylvia.

Then motherwasright! I'd fearful misgivings that it was forlastnight, and that somehow we'd forgotten all about it. Wouldn't that have been too dreadful of us?

Horace.

Oh, I—I don't know. I mean—I could have forgiven eventhat.

Professor Futvoye.

Ah, now I think of it—[interposing betweenSylviaandHorace,and drawing him apart, whileSylviagoes up towards the table]—did you find time to attend that sale for me yesterday?

Horace.

[Blankly.] Oh, yes. Iattendedit.

Professor Futvoye.

We called at your rooms yesterday afternoon, butyou weren't in, so we didn't wait for you. Now tell me—[anxiously]—did you get any of those lots for me, or didn't you?

Horace.

Well, no. I had the most rotten luck.

Professor Futvoye.

[With relief.] It's just as well you didn't—just as well. I doubt now whether I could afford the money. I find I shall be put to considerable expense—for repairs to my study.

[He turns toMr. Wackerbath,who is on his right.Sylviacomes down, andPringleadvances to greet her, but, finding she evidently sees no one butHorace,he goes up towards the balcony fuming with rage.

Sylvia.

[ToHorace.] Come and sit down somewhere, and tell me everything you've been doing.

[Horacetakes her to the sofa by the fireplace, where they sit down and talk in dumb show, whilePringleis now hanging about undecidedly near the flower-stand, waiting his opportunity for addressingSylvia,and furiously jealous at finding her still too absorbed to notice him;Mrs. FutvoyeandMrs. Wackerbathare talking confidentially on the sofa on the left side of the room, and theProfessorandMr. Wackerbathare standing in the centre.

Mr. Wackerbath.

So you and my young friend Ventimore are already acquainted, eh, Professor?

Professor Futvoye.

Why, yes. In fact, he's supposed to be engaged to Sylvia. But, between ourselves, I should feel more satisfied if there was any prospect of his getting work.

Mr. Wackerbath.

My dear Futvoye, you needn't be uneasy aboutthat! Why, this house he's building formewill find him work enough. He's an able young chap, and I shouldn't be surprised if he gave me a perfect palace!

Pringle.

[Who is near enough to hear this, comes down.] What,anotherpalace, Mr. Wackerbath?

Mr. Wackerbath.

[In some astonishment.] Eh? Why, bless my soul, sir, I thought you'd gone to the "Patience" Room long ago!

Pringle.

[Drily.] I found it wasn't necessary. How are you, Professor? [With the air of a host.] Delighted to see you.

Professor Futvoye.

[Shaking hands perfunctorily.] Oh, how are you, my boy, how are you? [Turning his shoulder onPringle,and continuing toMr. Wackerbath,as they go up together towards the table, ignoringPringle.] Wackerbath, about this house of yours?—do I understand that Ventimore is——?

[They talk in dumb show, and during the next few speeches theFirst Waiterenters, andMr. Wackerbathgives him an order, after which theWaitergoes out and returns with two cocktails. TheProfessorsits by the table andMr. Wackerbathstands as they drink.Pringlemeanwhile has returned to the corner of the flower-stand and is no longer able to control his temper.

Pringle.

[ToSylvia,with elaborate sarcasm, as he offers his hand, which she does not see at first.] Good evening, Miss Sylvia, it's really about time that I reminded you ofmyhumble existence.

Sylvia.

[With slightly raised eyebrows, as she shakes hands.] Oh, how do you do, Mr. Pringle? I didn't see you come in.

[Horacesits by in silence, feeling powerless to stopPringleat present.

Pringle.

[Unpleasantly.] No, you were so much engaged. [In a tone of injury.] And I must say I little expectedwhen I last saw you at Cottesmore Gardens—scarcely seven hours ago——!

Sylvia.

[Smiling, but surprised.] Sevenhours! It is more like sevenweeks!

Pringle.

[Beaming fatuously.] Charming of you to put it in that way! I was almost beginning to fear that you had forgotten—[with meaning]—our last meeting.

Sylvia.

[Innocently.] In Vincent Square yesterday afternoon? Of course not.Imeant since you had been to seeus. And that'sagesago!

Pringle.

[Blankly.] Ages ago!

Sylvia.

[Carelessly.] Oh, you said you'd been away, or working hard, or something, didn't you?Iforgive you. And soyouare dining with Mr. and Mrs. Wackerbath, too?

Pringle.

[Stiffly.] With Mr. and Mrs.——! Pardon me, but I am under the impression thatIam to have the honour of entertaining you.

Sylvia.

[Rising;Horacerising as she does.] Entertainingus! Why, whatcouldhave made you think that?

Pringle.

[In a low voice.] And you can throw me over like this! After all I've done for you? Oh,Sylvia!

Sylvia.

[Coldly.] I don't understand you a bit this evening, Mr. Pringle. But there may have been some mistake. I will go and ask mother about it.

[She crosses to behind the sofa on whichMrs. Futvoyeis seated, and talks to her in dumb show,Mrs. Futvoyeappearing surprised by what she hears. Meanwhile.

Pringle.

[In a savage undertone toHorace.] This isyourwork! I see how it is—you've made 'emallknuckle down, somehow!

Horace.

[Earnestly, in an undertone to him.] It isn't that, my dear fellow. They've forgotten—utterly forgotten everything. And so will you if you're a wise man.

Pringle.

They may pretend to forget if they like! But I'm hanged ifIdo!

Mrs. Futvoye.

[Who has risen, leavingSylviato talk toMrs. Wackerbath,now advances toPringle.]Whatis this Sylvia tells me, Mr. Pringle? Surely you haven't been expecting us to dine withyouto-night?

Pringle.

I not onlyhavebeen, Iam, my dear lady.

Mrs. Futvoye.

Then my husband must have——[Turning to theProfessor,who is by the table talking toMr. Wackerbath.] Anthony! [TheProfessorcomes down.] Have you accepted an invitation from Mr. Pringle for to-night without telling me? Howcouldyou be so forgetful?

Professor Futvoye.

My memory has not begun to failyet, Sophia. [ToPringle.] My dear Pringle, I can only say that I received no such invitation. We hadnoengagement for this evening till Mrs. Wackerbath kindly rang my wife up this afternoon.

[He takes a chair on the left byMrs. Wackerbath,and talks to her.

Mrs. Futvoye.

Your invitation must have been lost in the post, Mr. Pringle.

Pringle.

Hardly, as it happened to be given—and accepted—by word of mouth, Mrs. Futvoye. However, since you seem to have found a subsequent engagement more attractive, I have, of course, no option but to release you.

Mrs. Futvoye.

Releaseus! But, my dear Mr. Pringle, when we've assured you——

Pringle.

[Interrupting her with chilly magnanimity.] Pray say no more. I quite understand the situation—quite.

[Mrs. FutvoyerejoinsSylvia,whileMr. Wackerbath,who has gradually drawn nearer, now comes forward genially.

Mr. Wackerbath.

[ToPringle.] I think, sir, we can find a simple way out of this little difficulty. If you will waive the point of my being—ah—personally unknown to you, and give my wife and myself the pleasure of joining our little party—[the others suppress their dismay]—we shallallbe happy.

Pringle.

Well, Mr. Wackerbath, if you think it will contribute to the general gaiety, I—I don't mind if Idojoin your party.

Mr. Wackerbath.

[Astonished, and with a touch of hauteur.] H'm! That's very obliging of you! [Looking round.] Where are those waiter-fellows?

[He goes up beyond the arch and beckons; theFirstandSecond Waiterscome in, and he explains in dumb show that he wants another cover laid. One waiter rearranges the chairs, the other brings plate and glasses.Mr. Wackerbaththen seems to find that the table is too near the balcony, and orders it to be moved down, which is done under his instructions.

Sylvia.

[AsMr. Wackerbathgoes up to find the waiters, to her mother, in an undertone.] Mother, what is the matter with Mr. Pringle? He seems quite—quiteodd.

Mrs. Futvoye.

I can't make him out at all, my dear. He seems to be offended with us—and for no reason thatIcan see.

Sylvia.

Nor I.

[They continue the conversation in dumb show, while theProfessor,on a chair, is talking toMrs. Wackerbathon the sofa on the left.

Pringle.

[In an undertone toHorace,as they stand by the fireplace on the right.] I suppose you knowwhyI've accepted that fellow's hospitality?

Horace.

Not in the least—but I hope you don't mean to abuse it.

Pringle.

I mean to show up the lot of you! I'm going to be the skeleton at your feast.

Horace.

"An agreeable rattle," eh?

Pringle.

It's too sickening! All of 'em grovelling and cringing to you because they're in a blue funk of that old Fakrash! You've managed to get him under control again!

Horace.

[With much earnestness.] Now, my dear fellow—I'll explain everything when we're alone. But, for Heaven's sake, take my advice and keep quiethere!

Pringle.

[Roughly.] I'm not afraid of you, or your Jinnee either—he rathertookto me! And if the Futvoyes choose to drop me like this, I'm not going to take it lying down—I can makethemlook pretty foolish!

Horace.

You'll be the only one to look foolish—upon my honour, you will!

Pringle.

We'll see about that! You can't shutmymouth!

Mr. Wackerbath.

[TheWaitershaving gone out, now comes down and addressesMrs. Futvoye.] They tell me we shall have to wait a few minutes longer—but they'll be as quick as they can.

Mrs. Wackerbath.

Oh, Samuel, the Professor has just been telling me about such an extraordinary affair that happened this morning—in his own study! Have you heard?

[Horacestarts;Pringleprepares to assume the offensive.

Mr. Wackerbath.

Not a word—not a word. What was it, Futvoye? Nothing, I hope, of—ah—an unpleasant nature!

Pringle.

[Striking in before theProfessorcan reply.] "Unpleasant"? Oh,dearno! [Coming forward to centre.]Quitean ordinary occurrence! Ha-ha!

[General surprise.

Mrs. Futvoye.

[With annoyance.] I don't know why Mr. Pringle should choose to answer for my husband. [ToMr.Wackerbath.] We considered itmostunpleasant. In fact, we can only be thankful it was no worse!

Pringle.

Butareyou thankful? I haven't noticed any signs of it,sofar!

Horace.

[In his ear.] Shut up, can't you?

Mrs. Futvoye.

Really, Mr. Pringle! [ToMr. Wackerbath.] I wasaboutto say—when Mr. Pringle interrupted me—that my husband found, on going into his study after lunch this afternoon, that it was completely wrecked.

Mr. Wackerbath.

Wrecked? You don't say so!

Mrs. Futvoye.

Everything—bookcases, all his ancient glass and pottery——

Professor Futvoye.

A valuable mummy!

Mrs. Futvoye.

Absolutely smashed to atoms!

Mr. Wackerbath.

Dear me! How unfortunate! [To theProfessor.] And have you any clue to the—ah—culprit?

Pringle.

[With a wild sardonic laugh.] Ho-ho! He's noideawho the—ah—culprit is.Haveyou, Professor?

[Renewed astonishment.

Professor Futvoye.

[Glaring atPringle.] I can only surmise.Mytheory is that burglars must have broken in during the night, and that the scoundrels, disgusted at finding nothing of any value tothem, revenged themselves by doing this irreparable damage.

Pringle.

Bravo, Professor! Does you credit, that theory of yours!Mostingenious!Musthave been burglars, of course! With gout in all their four legs—eh, Mrs. Futvoye?

[Mrs. Futvoyeregards him with puzzled displeasure.

Horace.

[InPringle'sear.]Willyou hold your confounded tongue!

Mrs. Wackerbath.

[To theProfessor.] The wretches! But what a mercy that you weren't disturbed!

Pringle.

Oh, the Professor wasn't disturbed—nothe! "Preserved perfect calm and self-control from first to last"—didn'tyou, Professor?

Professor Futvoye.

[Acidly.] As I was sound asleep during the whole business, sir, I presume Idid.

Pringle.

Ha-ha! Sound asleep, eh? But you must have had a touch of nightmare whenIsaw you.

Professor Futvoye.

When you——! [Rising and coming towards him.] How and when couldyoupossibly have seen me, Pringle?

Pringle.

Oh, in your study. When you were lashing out at everything—with your hind legs.

[General sensation;Mrs. WackerbathandMrs. Futvoyeboth rise, and, withSylvia,come somewhat nearerPringle.

Professor Futvoye.

With my hind legs!... D'you know, my dear Pringle, you're talking rather wildly?

Pringle.

It won't do, Professor, it won't do! I wasthere, remember. And lucky for you Iwas—or you'd be a wall-eyed mule at this very moment. [Exasperated by theFutvoyes'apparent astonishment.] Oh, it may suit you to forget itnow—but you were all three—especially Sylvia—grateful enough to methen!

[Increased sensation.

Mrs. Futvoye.

Grateful to you? May I ask what for?

Pringle.

I suppose you won't deny that I was the only one who could tackle Ventimore's old Jinnee?

Mrs. Futvoye.

[In a tone of hopeless bewilderment.] Horace!Doeshe mean that pleasant elderly landlady of yours?

Pringle.

As if you didn'tknow, Mrs. Futvoye! I mean the old demon, or whatever he may be, that Ventimore let out of that brass bottle.

All the Others(except Horace).

[Together.] Brass bottle!Whatbrass bottle? Whatishe talking about?

Pringle.

I'm talking about the bottle he bought for you at that auction yesterday, Professor. You can surely rememberthat?

Professor Futvoye.

I certainlydidask him to attend a sale. [ApproachingHorace.] But I understood you to say just now, Ventimore, that you bought nothing for me?

Horace.

That is so, Professor. As I told you, I was—unlucky.

Mr. Wackerbath.

[RegardingPringlewith dignified displeasure.] You seem to me, sir, to be endeavouring to be—ah—facetious.

Pringle.

[Turning on him.] No more facetious, Mr. Wackerbath, thanyouwere when I saw you this morning in Ventimore's office.

Mr. Wackerbath.

I didn'tgoto Mr. Ventimore's office. I entirely forgot the appointment—an unusual thing forme.

Pringle.

Oh, no. You did an evenmoreunusual thing. You werethere—running about on all fours, and yelping like a dog!

Mr. Wackerbath.

[Hardly believing his own ears.] Running about on all fours! Yelping like a dog! Me?Me!

Pringle.

Yes,you. The Jinnee made you do it, if you remember, because you declined to live in that palace he built for you in a single night. And you didn'tseem to like the idea of having to cross Westminster Bridge on all fours!

Mr. Wackerbath.

[With dignity.] I'm afraid, sir, that when you accepted my invitation just now, you overlooked the fact that you had been diningalready.

Pringle.

I haven't dined since last night—in that Arabian hall of Ventimore's, with black slaves to wait, and dancing-girls. Professor,don'tpretend you've forgotten those dancing-girls!

[Everybody speechless with indignation and surprise, except theProfessor,who comes towards him with concern.

Professor Futvoye.

[Soothingly, toPringle.] There, there—you mustn't get excited about it. [He turns, and takesMr. Wackerbathaside.] It's not whatyouthink. Poor fellow!Hisonly excess is overwork. [Turning toPringleagain.] Now, now, Pringle, my dear fellow, you're not—not quite yourself, you know—not quiteyourself! Take my advice and go quietly home, and ask your doctor to come and have a look at you.

Pringle.

[Staggered.] So—so you're trying to make out now that—that I'mmad, are you?

Professor Futvoye.

Mad? No, no—only a little out of sorts. You've been working rather too hard, you know, that's all! All you want is a thorough rest.

Mr. Wackerbath.

Yes, yes. A sea-voyage, now. Trip round the world. Set you up in no time!

Mrs. Futvoye.

[ApproachingPringle.]Dogo round the world, Mr. Pringle. You'll come back cured of all these fancies!

Pringle.

[Reeling back a step or two.] Fancies!... Ventimore! [Horacegoes to him, while the others form a group on the left and discussPringle'scase with pitying concern.] I've been a fool—I see that now. They're not pretending—they reallyhaveforgotten!

Horace.

Completely. Fakrash hasn't foozledthat—for a wonder! I ought to have includedyou; but—well, one can't think ofeverything—I forgot. I can only say I'm sorry.

Pringle.

But they all think I'm mad! [He sinks on the sofa by fireplace.]Youknow I'm notthat! [With sudden doubt.]AmI?

Horace.

[Patting him on the shoulder.] Not a bit, my dear fellow,—you're as sane as I am.

Pringle.

[With relief.] IknewI was! Buttell'em so—tell 'em it's all true!

Horace.

I can't. They'd only thinkIwas mad, too.

Pringle.

[In despair.] But youmustget me out of this somehow,—or I shall be ruined! Who'd employ a mad architect?

Horace.

[Reflecting.] I'll get you out of it, if I can. But I shall have to stretch the truth a bit,—so mind you back up everything I say.

Pringle.

I will—I will! I'll say anything, do anything!

Horace.

Then here goes! [He turns to the others, and comes towards centre.] Oh, er—Mrs. Wackerbath—[the others break off their conversation and listen to him]—I've found out what's the matter with Mr. Pringle,—and I know you'll all be glad to hear that it's nothing serious. [Murmur of sympathetic relief from the others.] It seems he's been spending the afternoon with his dentist, and—[turning toPringle]—was it two orthreeback teeth you had out, Pringle?

Pringle.

[Sullenly.] One. Onlyone.

Horace.

[To the others.] Onlyone. But under an anæsthetic. [ToPringle,as before.] Nitrous oxide, Pringle, or ether?

Pringle.

I can't say—I didn't inquire.

Horace.

[To the others.] Naturally—hewouldn'tinquire. But—well,youknow what ef—I mean, anæstheticsare!

All(except Pringle).

To be sure! Yes, yes. Of course!

Horace.

They give you the queerest dreams. And, just before, as it happens, Mr. Pringle had been reading "The Arabian Nights." [ToPringle.] Youdidsay "The Arabian Nights," didn't you?

Pringle.

"The Arabian Nights"—yes. I read it regularly.

Horace.

[To the others, airily.] Which probably accounts for his dreams. And, in some exceptional cases, the Efreets—I mean, theeffects—don't go off altogetherfor hours after the operation. Mr. Pringle thinks he can't have been thoroughly awake——

Pringle.

[Rising.] But I am now—I amnow!

Horace.

Oh, he isnow—quite serious and sensible, and generally himself again.

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