[He waves his arm, and for ten seconds the room is in utter darkness. There are sounds as of a rushing wind and crashes and rumblings. Then the glimmer of three Arabian hanging lanterns is seen faintly illuminating a large central arch and two smaller side ones. An immense perforated lantern hanging from the domed roof then becomes lit, and reveals an octagonal hall with four curtained arches, the fourth, down on the right, being whereHorace'sbedroom door had been. The walls are decorated in crimson, blue, and gold arabesques. Above the bedroom door is a low divan with richly embroidered cushions. Opposite to it, on the left, is a similar divan. High in the wall overhead is a window with gilded lattice-work, through which is seen a soft blue evening sky.
[He waves his arm, and for ten seconds the room is in utter darkness. There are sounds as of a rushing wind and crashes and rumblings. Then the glimmer of three Arabian hanging lanterns is seen faintly illuminating a large central arch and two smaller side ones. An immense perforated lantern hanging from the domed roof then becomes lit, and reveals an octagonal hall with four curtained arches, the fourth, down on the right, being whereHorace'sbedroom door had been. The walls are decorated in crimson, blue, and gold arabesques. Above the bedroom door is a low divan with richly embroidered cushions. Opposite to it, on the left, is a similar divan. High in the wall overhead is a window with gilded lattice-work, through which is seen a soft blue evening sky.
Horace.
[With his back to the audience.] Great Scott! What's that old idiot let me in fornow?
Mrs. Rapkin.
[Heard outside the arch up on right of central arch.] Oh, whatever is itnow? What's 'appened? [Sheenters.] Goodness gracious! Mr. Ventimore, sir—what'scometo the 'ouse?
Horace.
Then—yousee a difference, Mrs. Rapkin?
Mrs. Rapkin.
I don't see nothink asain'tdifferent. For mercy's sake, sir,'oo'sbeen alterin' of it like this?
Horace.
Well,Ihaven't.
Mrs. Rapkin.
But where are you going to 'ave your dinner-partynow, sir?
Horace.
Where? Why,here! There's lots ofroom.
Mrs. Rapkin.
But I don't see no dinner-table, nor yet no sideboard.
Horace.
Never mind—never mind! Don'tmakedifficulties, Mrs. Rapkin. You must managesomehow.
Mrs. Rapkin.
I'll try, sir, but—not to deceive you—I feel that upset I 'ardly know where Iam.
Horace.
You—you'll get used to it. [Persuasively.] And you're going to see me through this, I'm sure. I must go and dress now. [Looking round the hall.] I suppose you haven't any idea where my bedroom is?
Mrs. Rapkin.
I've no idea whereanyof the rooms has got to, sir!
Horace.
[Going to arch down on right.] I expect it's through here.
[As he goes out,Rapkinenters from the arch on left of central arch. He is respectably dressed—type of elderly retired butler; just now he is slightly and solemnly fuddled.
[As he goes out,Rapkinenters from the arch on left of central arch. He is respectably dressed—type of elderly retired butler; just now he is slightly and solemnly fuddled.
Mrs. Rapkin.
William, this is a pretty state o' things!
Rapkin.
What's marrer, M'rire? I'm allri'. On'y bin a-improvin' o' my mind in Public Libery.
Mrs. Rapkin.
Public Libery, indeed! You and your Public Libery.
Rapkin.
It's pos'tive fac'. Bin p'rusin' En-ensicklypejia Britannia.
[He stands blinking and slightly swaying.
[He stands blinking and slightly swaying.
Mrs. Rapkin.
But do you mean to say you don'tseenothing?
Rapkin.
[Muzzily.] Not over distinct, M'rire. Curus opt'cal d'lusion—due to overshtudy—everything's spinnin' round. 'Ave I stepped into Alhambra, or 'ave I not? That's allIwant to know.
Horace.
[Outside from right.] That you, Rapkin? I want you.
Mrs. Rapkin.
[ToRapkin.] You ast'imwhere you are—he's better able to tell you than I am. I'm going back to my kitching.
[She hesitates for a moment as to which arch to go out by, and finally goes out by the one on right of central arch.
[She hesitates for a moment as to which arch to go out by, and finally goes out by the one on right of central arch.
Horace.
[Outside.] Rapkin, I say! [Then entering from the lower arch on right as soon asMrs. Rapkinhas gone; he is wearing a richly embroidered Oriental robe, &c., and a jewelled turban and plume, of which he is entirely unconscious.] Oh,thereyou are! Don't stand there gaping like a fish at a flower-show! Where the deuce are my evening clothes?
Rapkin.
[Staring at him.] I don't know if it's'notheropt'cal d'lusion—but you appear t' me to ha' gorremon.
Horace.
Eh, what? Nonsense! [Suddenly discovering that he is in a robe and turban.] Hang it! I can't dine in these things! Just see if you can't find—no, there's no time.Youhaven't changed yet! Look sharp, the people will be here in a minute or two—youmustbe ready to open the door to them.
Rapkin.
[Looking round the hall.] I don't seem to see no doors—on'y arches. Ican'topen a arch—even if it would stay still.
Horace.
Pull yourself together, man! [He twistsRapkinsharply round.] Come, a little cold water on your head will soon bring you round.
Rapkin.
I'mcomin' round. Don't see s'many arches already!
Mrs. Rapkin.
[Rushing in from arch on right of centre arch.] Oh, William, William! Come away at once!
Rapkin.
[Peacefully.] I'm aw'ri, M'rire!
Mrs. Rapkin.
[SeeingHorace'scostume.] Oh, Mr. Ventimore, who's been and dressed you up like that? Why, it's'ardly Christian! [ToRapkin.] Come away out of this 'orrible 'ouse, do!
Rapkin.
What's 'orrible about it?
Mrs. Rapkin.
Everything! Can't you see it's all turned into Arabian 'alls?
Rapkin.
Isit? [He suddenly becomes indignant.] 'Oo's bin and took sech a liberty?
Mrs. Rapkin.
Ah, you may well ask! Oh, Mr. Ventimore. [Crossing toHorace.] You've a deal to answer for,you'ave!
Rapkin.
What?'Im?'E'sdone it all?
Horace.
Mrs. Rapkin, don'tyoulose your head! I depend onyou, you know. Get your husband away and make him sober—or the dinner'sboundto come to grief!
Mrs. Rapkin.
Dinner indeed! And me unable to get into my own kitching for them nasty niggers o' yours as is swarmin' there like beedles! The gell's bolted already,and you and me'll go next, William, for stay under this roof with sech Iwon't!
[She dragsRapkinby the arm to arch up on right.
[She dragsRapkinby the arm to arch up on right.
Horace.
I say, Mr. Rapkin, don't you two desert me now! Justthinkof the hole I'm in!
Mrs. Rapkin.
Bein' a 'ole of your own makin', sir, you can get out of it yourself! Come, William!
Rapkin.
I'm comin', M'rire! [As he is dragged through arch byMrs. Rapkin.] You'll 'earmoreo' this, Mr. Ventimore!
Horace.
[Alone on stage.] What's to be done now? Can't dinehere! [The front door bell rings with a long jangling tingle.] There they are! What am I todowith 'em? It'llhaveto be the Carlton, after all! [He glances down at his robes.] Can't go likethis, though! [He tries to take off his turban.] This damned thing won't come off! [Searching himself for money.] And where are my pockets? [With resigned despair.] Well, I suppose I must let them in, and—and tell 'em how it is!
[As he turns to go up to the centre arch, the hangings are drawn back with a rattle, disclosing a smaller hall behind. A row of sinister-looking but richly robed black slaves forms on each side of the arch; astill more richly dressedChief Slavesalaams toHorace,and with a magnificent gesture ushers in theProfessor,Mrs. Futvoye,andSylvia,to each of whom the double row of slaves salaam obsequiously, to their intense amazement.
[As he turns to go up to the centre arch, the hangings are drawn back with a rattle, disclosing a smaller hall behind. A row of sinister-looking but richly robed black slaves forms on each side of the arch; astill more richly dressedChief Slavesalaams toHorace,and with a magnificent gesture ushers in theProfessor,Mrs. Futvoye,andSylvia,to each of whom the double row of slaves salaam obsequiously, to their intense amazement.
Professor Futvoye.
[Coming down to the right and looking round him.] Why, why, why? What's all this? Wherearewe?
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Following him closely.] We've evidently mistaken the house!
Sylvia.
[Following her mother, and suddenly seeingHorace.] But surely that's—yes, itisHorace!
[At a gesture from their chief, the slaves retire, and he follows.
[At a gesture from their chief, the slaves retire, and he follows.
Horace.
[With some constraint, but trying to seem at his ease.] Yes, it'smeall right. There's no mistake. Most awfully glad to see you!
Mrs. Futvoye.
Dear me! [Coming towardsHorace.] I really didn't recognise you for the moment.
Professor Futvoye.
[Snappishly.] I don't know whowould!
Horace.
Oh, ah—you mean inthesethings. I—I must apologise for not dressing, Mrs. Futvoye, but the fact is, I—I found myself like this, and I hadn't time to put on anything else.
Professor Futvoye.
[Crossing toHorace.] Any apologies for the simplicity of your costume arequiteunnecessary.
Sylvia.
You really are magnificent, Horace!Mypoor frock is simply nowhere!
Professor Futvoye.
[Glaring round.] I observe that this is a very different room from the one we were in this afternoon.
Horace.
Ah, Ithoughtyou'd noticethat! [Deciding on perfect candour.] I—I'd bettertellyou about that. The—the fact is——
[He starts nervously, as the hangings of the centre arch are drawn back once more, the slaves form a double row, and their chief appears, beckoning to some one to follow him.
[He starts nervously, as the hangings of the centre arch are drawn back once more, the slaves form a double row, and their chief appears, beckoning to some one to follow him.
Pringle.
[Heard outside, addressingChief Slave.] Mr. Pringle. Mr.SpencerPringle.... Oh, if you can'tmanage it, it don't matter! [He enters, and stares at the salaaming slaves, then round the hall.] Myaunt!
Horace.
[Coming forward.] Here you are, eh, old fellow?
[The slaves go out.
[The slaves go out.
Pringle.
[Staring after the slaves.] Yes, here I am. [Reproachfully, as he observesHorace'scostume.] Youmighthave told me it was a fancy-dress affair.
Horace.
It isn't. I—I'll explain presently.
Pringle.
[Sees theFutvoyes,and crosses to them.] How do you do again, Miss Sylvia? How are you, Mrs. Futvoye? We meet sooner than we expected, eh? [Turning to theProfessor.] Well, Professor, I supposeyouweren't surprised at finding our good host in—[he looks round the hall again]—this exceedingly snug little sanctum? I must confessIam.
Professor Futvoye.
My dear fellow, you can't be more surprised thanweare!
Pringle.
[With satisfaction.] You don't mean it! [Turning toHorace,who is on the other side of the hall, talking toMrs. FutvoyeandSylvia.] Then you've only just got this place finished, eh, Ventimore?
Horace.
That's all, Pringle.
Professor Futvoye.
To build and decorate such a place as this must have cost a very considerable sum of money.
Horace.
You'dthinkso, wouldn't you? But itdidn't.
Professor Futvoye.
[Coming towards him.] And that costume you're wearing, those negroes in rich liveries, all this senseless profusion and display we see around us—are you going to tell metheyhaven't cost you anything?
Horace.
I—I was going to explain about that. It's a most extraordinary thing, but—well, you remember that old brass bottle I showed you this afternoon?
Professor Futvoye.
Remember it? Of course I remember it! But what of it, sir, whatofit?
Horace.
Why—er—in a manner of speaking—everything you see here has—er—more or less—come out of that bottle——
Professor Futvoye.
[Infuriated.] That is enough, sir, that is enough! You choose to give me a frivolous answer! I willnot submit to be treated like this—I would rather leave the house at once. And Iwill, too!
[He makes a movement towards the arch.Sylviaand her mother look on in distress, andPringlewith secret gratification.
[He makes a movement towards the arch.Sylviaand her mother look on in distress, andPringlewith secret gratification.
Horace.
No, but I haven't finished! You see, it was like this: When Iopenedthe bottle——
Professor Futvoye.
[Savagely.] Tchah! As you seem unable to realise that this is not a fit time for fooling, I will not stay here to be trifled with. Sophia, Sylvia, we must find some other place to dine in!
Sylvia.
[Going toHorace,and speaking in a rapid undertone.] Horace! Can't you see? Hemeansit. Youmustbe serious—or else——!
Horace.
[To her.] Yes, I see.... Professor, I'm sorry. I—I never thought you'd be annoyed. All Ireallymeant by—by my feeble little joke was to tell you—in a sort of figurative way, do you see?—that—that my luck has turned at last.
The Others.
[Together.] Turned?Howturned? What do you mean?
Horace.
Well, I've got a client.
The Others.
[As before.] A client? How? Where? When?
Horace.
Just after you all left this afternoon. A clinking good client, too! He's asked me to build him a big country-house, and my commission can't come to less than seven or eight thousand pounds.
Pringle.
[At the end of a general chorus of surprise.] Seven or eight thousand! [Incredulously.] May we know the name of this wonderful client of yours?
Horace.
It's a Mr. Samuel Wackerbath, a big City auctioneer, I believe.
Sylvia.
Why, he's my godfather!
Mrs. Futvoye.
An old friend of ours. Eliza Wackerbath and I were at school together.
Horace.
[ToProfessor.] So you see, sir, I—I'm not so badly off as you thought. I can afford to—to launchouta bit.
Professor Futvoye.
[Somewhat mollified.] Hardly, I should have thought, tothisextent. However, in the circumstances, I consent to remain.
Sylvia.
[In an undertone toHorace.] I thought it was all over with us!
Horace.
[In the same to her.] So did I! But IthinkI'm out of the cart this time.
[He goes up towards the left, talking to her.
[He goes up towards the left, talking to her.
Pringle.
[Crossing to theProfessor;in an undertone.]Soglad you decided to stay, Professor. I was really half afraid you'd go—as a protest against all this ostentation.
[Mrs. Futvoyeis admiring the workmanship of the hangings.
[Mrs. Futvoyeis admiring the workmanship of the hangings.
Professor Futvoye.
[In an undertone toPringle.] I should have done so, Pringle, I should havedoneso—but for the inconvenience of dining elsewhere at this hour. [Aloud, toHorace.] Ventimore! [PringlejoinsMrs. Futvoye.] I don't know ifyouare getting hungry,—but I ownIam. Will it be long before they announce dinner?
Horace.
[Turning, with a start.] Dinner? Oh, Ihopenot—I mean, Ithinknot.
Professor Futvoye.
I see no table is laid here. [Acidly.] But probably you have an equally spacious dining-hall adjoining this?
Horace.
Yes. That is,—probably, you know. I mean, it's quitepossible.
[The curtains of the arch on left of centre arch are drawn.
[The curtains of the arch on left of centre arch are drawn.
Professor Futvoye.
Do you mean to tell me you haven't settled yet where weareto dine?
Horace.
[At a loss for an instant, then he suddenly sees the slaves enter from the arch on left, bearing a low round table, which they place in the centre of the hall.] Oh, we dinehere, of course!—here. I—I leave it to these fellows.
[Four of the slaves fetch cushions and arrange them as seats around the table, theChief Slavedirecting them.
[Four of the slaves fetch cushions and arrange them as seats around the table, theChief Slavedirecting them.
Pringle.
I say, Ventimore, what an odd idea of yours,having all these black footmen! Don't you find them a nuisance at times?
Horace.
Oh, they—they've only come in for the evening. You see—they're—er—quieter than the ordinary hired waiter—and—and they don't blow on the top of your head.
Sylvia.
[In an undertone, nervously.] Horace! I don't like them! They're so creepy-crawly, somehow!
Horace.
[Suppressing his own antipathy.] After all, darling, we—we mustn't forget that they're men and brothers. [To the others, as theChief Slaveadvances to him and makes elaborate gesticulations.] I think what he means is that dinner is served. Shall we sit down?
Mrs. Futvoye.
I don't see anychairs.
Horace.
No. It—it's such a low table, you see. So we sit on cushions. M—much better fun!
Professor Futvoye.
[Grimly.] May I ask if the entire dinner is to be carried out on strictly Arabian principles?
Horace.
[Helplessly.] I—I rather think thatisthe idea. I hope you don'tmind, Professor?
Professor Futvoye.
I am in your hands, sir, in your hands! Sophia!
[He indicates toMrs. Futvoyethat she is expected to sit down, and seats himself on the right of table with many precautions;HoraceleadsMrs. Futvoyeto a cushion on his right, and establishesSylviaon his left, invitingPringleto the place belowMrs. Futvoyeand opposite theProfessor.A slave brings on a large covered golden dish, which he places on the table in front ofHorace.
[He indicates toMrs. Futvoyethat she is expected to sit down, and seats himself on the right of table with many precautions;HoraceleadsMrs. Futvoyeto a cushion on his right, and establishesSylviaon his left, invitingPringleto the place belowMrs. Futvoyeand opposite theProfessor.A slave brings on a large covered golden dish, which he places on the table in front ofHorace.
Horace.
[With a pathetic attempt to be cheery, as another slave raises the cover.] Ha! Now we shall see what they'vegivenus!
[The expressions of the party indicate that, whatever the food may be, its savour is not exactly appetising.
[The expressions of the party indicate that, whatever the food may be, its savour is not exactly appetising.
Professor Futvoye.
I should just like to remark that, having lived in the East myself and had considerable experience of native cooking, I expect to be extremely unwell to-morrow.
Horace.
Let's hope for the best, Professor, hope for the best! [Turning to theChief Slavebehind him.] But, I say! You've forgotten the knives and forks. Nobody has any! Whatarethese fellows about? [TheChief Slaveexplains in pantomime that fingers and thumbs are all that is necessaryEh? Dowithoutthem? Dip into the dish and help ourselves? Oh—if you say we'vegotto! [ToMrs. Futvoye.] Mrs. Futvoye, can I persuade you to—er—have first dip?
Mrs. Futvoye.
Really, Horace, I must get my gloves offfirst!
[She removes them.
[She removes them.
Horace.
Itdoesseem a little messy. ButquiteArabian, you know—quiteArabian!
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Vainly trying to reach the dish.] I'm such a long way off!
Horace.
Yes. I think we'd better all—er—close up a bit.
[They all work themselves up uncomfortably on their respective cushions nearer the table.
[They all work themselves up uncomfortably on their respective cushions nearer the table.
Professor Futvoye.
[AsHoracetakesMrs. Futvoye'sandSylvia'sright hands and guides them to the dish.] And he calls this a simple, ordinary little dinner!
The scene is the Arabian Hall—an hour later. The slaves are offering the guests water in golden bowls, and insisting on wiping their hands for them, an attention which theProfessorresents.
The scene is the Arabian Hall—an hour later. The slaves are offering the guests water in golden bowls, and insisting on wiping their hands for them, an attention which theProfessorresents.
Professor Futvoye.
Ventimore!
Horace.
[Seated in utter dejection.] Yes, Professor?
Professor Futvoye.
I infer from the fact that the last course seemed to be something in the nature of—ah—sweets——
[Mrs. FutvoyeandPringleexchange glances, and sigh audibly.
[Mrs. FutvoyeandPringleexchange glances, and sigh audibly.
Horace.
Theywererather beastly, weren't they?
[A slave takes theProfessor'shands with great respect, and inserts them into the bowl.
[A slave takes theProfessor'shands with great respect, and inserts them into the bowl.
Professor Futvoye.
As I was saying, I infer from that, and the circumstance that your attendant hasagainattemptedto wash my hands, that the—ah—banquet has come to an end. Is that so?
Horace.
[Miserably.] Ihopeso! I mean—Ithinkso.
Professor Futvoye.
Then, as I have been suffering agonies of cramp from having had to sit for an hour on a cushion with my legs crossed, I should be glad, with your permission, to stretch them again.
Horace.
So sorry! Mrs. Futvoye, shall we——?
[He helpsMrs. FutvoyeandSylviato rise.Pringlehas also risen; theProfessorremains on his cushion.
[He helpsMrs. FutvoyeandSylviato rise.Pringlehas also risen; theProfessorremains on his cushion.
Professor Futvoye.
Ishould be glad of some slight assistance.
[Sylviacomes to him;HoraceandMrs. Futvoyeare by the divan on the left.
[Sylviacomes to him;HoraceandMrs. Futvoyeare by the divan on the left.
Pringle.
[Crossing in front of table.] Allow me, Professor, allow me!
[He helps him to his feet.
[He helps him to his feet.
Professor Futvoye.
Thank you, Pringle, thank you. A word with you—[drawing him away to the right, whileSylviajoins her mother and Horace up on the left.]—Pringle. [Lowering his voice.] I declare to you that never,neverhave I been called upon to swallow a more repulsive and generally villainous meal! And that in a life which has had its—ah—ups and downs!
Pringle.
It's the same here, I can assure you. I don't understand our host's partiality for Arab cookery. And thewine! [With a reminiscent shudder.]Didyou try the wine?
Professor Futvoye.
I did. It must have been kept in a goat-skin for years! And yet he must have spent a perfectly scandalous amount on this preposterous banquet of his!
Pringle.
A small fortune! Ah, well—I suppose he feels entitled to indulge in these costly fancies—now.
Professor Futvoye.
He's no business to—just after he's engaged to my daughter!
Pringle.
Ah! It's a thousand pities. Still—hemaygive up some of this magnificence, when he's married.
Professor Futvoye.
I shall take very good care he does that—if he marries Sylvia at all!
[He lowers his voice still more, and the conversation continues in dumb show,Pringleby his manner showing that he is doing all in his power to prejudiceHoracewhile ostensibly defending him. The slaves return, clear away cushions, and remove the table.
[He lowers his voice still more, and the conversation continues in dumb show,Pringleby his manner showing that he is doing all in his power to prejudiceHoracewhile ostensibly defending him. The slaves return, clear away cushions, and remove the table.
Horace.
[ToMrs. Futvoye,whileSylviastands slightly apart with a somewhat resentful expression.] It's awfully kind of you to be so nice about it—but I know only too well you can'treallyhave enjoyed it. It was a shocking bad dinner from start to finish!
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Tolerantly.] Oh, you mustn't saythat! Perhaps,nexttime, if you could tell your landlady not to scentallthe dishesquiteso strongly with musk——
Horace.
I shall certainly mentionthat—if I get the chance. [Looking across at theProfessor,whose temper is evidently rising.] I'm afraid the Professor won't get overthisin a hurry.
Mrs. Futvoye.
Perhaps I'd better go and see how he's feeling.
[She crosses, leavingHoracewithSylvia.
[She crosses, leavingHoracewithSylvia.
Horace.
[ToSylvia.] I can guess howyou'refeeling about this.
Sylvia.
[Coldly.] Can you? Then it isn't necessary for me to tell you.
Horace.
No, I—this little dinner of mine hasn't turned out quite as weexpected, has it?
Sylvia.
I don't know whatyouexpected—Ithought it was going to be so delightful!... Howcouldyou be so foolish?
Horace.
You see, dear, you don't understand how it all came about yet. If you'd only let me tell you——
Sylvia.
I think you had much better say no more about it.
Horace.
Ah, but I can't! Imustget it off my chest. [Before he can begin the slaves enter once more, and shift the divans on either side to lower and rather more oblique positions, after which theHead SlaveapproachesHorace,and makes signs.] What do you want?
Sylvia.
[Clinging toHorace.] Oh, don't let him come too near me!
Horace.
[As theChief Slaverepeats the signs.] He sha'n't,darling—but he's quite friendly. He's only suggesting that we should sit down.
[HoraceandSylviasit on the divan on left. TheChief Slaveturns toProfessorand repeats the gestures.
[HoraceandSylviasit on the divan on left. TheChief Slaveturns toProfessorand repeats the gestures.
Professor Futvoye.
[Puzzled and irritable.] What does he want me to donow?
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Soothingly.] Why, to sit down, of course, and take your coffeecomfortably.
Professor Futvoye.
[Appeased.] Oh, isthatit? [Going to divan on right.] I sha'n't be sorry to rest my back against something. [Sitting.] You'd better sit down yourself, Sophia.
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Placidly.] I was going to, Anthony.
[She sits on theProfessor'sleft.
Professor Futvoye.
Plenty of room foryou, Pringle. [Pringleseats himself onProfessor'sright.] I think I might feel better after a cup of strong coffee—Turkishcoffee—and perhaps a glass ofliqueurbrandy. [As theChief Slavemoves up to the centre arch without paying any attention to him.] As you said, Pringle, the attendance is disgraceful! [Raising his voice, and calling across toHorace.] Ventimore, is your—ah—major-domo—going to bring us our coffee and what notsoon?
Horace.
At once, Professor, atonce!
[He claps his hands, and theChief Slavestalks forward majestically.
[He claps his hands, and theChief Slavestalks forward majestically.
Professor Futvoye.
And a cigar—agoodcigar, if it's not asking too much?
Horace.
WhatamI thinking of? Of course! [To theChief Slave.] Serve coffee atonce, please. [TheChief Slaveexpresses in pantomime that he fails to understandHorace'sdesires.] I said "Coffee."Youknow what coffee is! [Apparently theChief Slavedoes not.] I never saw such a fellow! Well,cigars, then! Come, youmustknowthem! Things to smoke? [He imitates the action of smoking. TheChief Slaveseems to take this as a dismissal. He salaams, motions to the other slaves to retire, upon which they all go out, then salaams once more and stalks off.] That beggar must be a born idiot!Ican't make him understand.
Professor Futvoye.
[Drily.] So I perceive. No matter, I must do without my usual after-dinner coffee, that's all! But at least, Ventimore, youmustknow where to lay your hand on your cigar-box!
Horace.
I did—before the place was altered so,—but I'mnot sure if——[He rises.] I'll just go and have a look in my bedroom.