the sort of man to unsettle any girl's affections----
HORACE.
That's your modesty, Pringle! You don't realise how dangerous you _are_!
PRINGLE.
[_Ignoring this._] I was going to say--so long as she continues engaged to
_another_. But if Miss Sylvia doesn't recognise yet that you are utterly
unworthy of her, she very soon _will_. Then _my_ chance will come--and I've
every intention of taking it.
HORACE.
Sorry to discourage you, my dear Pringle--but your chance hasn't come yet,
and it's not over likely to come at all.
[_He turns to his work again._
PRINGLE.
She'll never marry you without her father's consent--and if you'd heard him
last night in the cab----!
HORACE.
[_Easily._] I daresay. But he'll be very different this morning.
PRINGLE.
[_Who has come nearer to him._] Why, you're not trusting to that trumpery
seal of yours to convince him?
HORACE.
No. I'm trusting to something--or rather somebody--[_turning to him_]--who
will be more convincing than any seal.
PRINGLE.
It will take a good deal to reconcile him, or any of them, to such an
extremely--er--Oriental interior as you rejoice in.
HORACE.
The Oriental interior has gone, Pringle,--vanished into space!
PRINGLE.
Nonsense! How could solidly constructed halls like those vanish in a night?
HORACE.
I don't pretend to know _how_--but they _have_, and that's enough for _me_!
[_He returns to his drawing._
PRINGLE.
[_Going back to fireplace._] And this client of yours--has _he_ vanished,
too?
HORACE.
Old Wackerbath? Oh, no; he's much too solid to vanish--he's only a trifle
late!
PRINGLE.
I shouldn't make too sure of him.
HORACE.
[_Listening._] I fancy he's coming upstairs now. [_Rises and goes to door
at back, then stops with a sudden recollection._] Unless it's the _other_
one!
PRINGLE.
The _other_ one? So you've _two_ clients!
HORACE.
No, only one. The other--isn't a client. [_Half to himself, as he comes
down._] Awkward if they happened to _meet_! I never thought of that!
[_There is a loud knock at the door to staircase._] Well, here's _one_ of
'em, anyhow! Come in! [_MR. WACKERBATH opens the door, and stands on the
threshold, breathing hard, and purple and speechless with rage. HORACE
goes towards him._] It _is_ Mr. Wackerbath! How do you do? [_Pleasantly._]
I was beginning to be afraid----[_He notices MR. WACKERBATH'S
expression._] Eh? Has anything happened?
MR. WACKERBATH.
Happened, sir? Yes, something _has_ happened! Which you'll be good enough
to explain--if you _can_!
HORACE.
Oh? [_Turning to PRINGLE._] Perhaps, Pringle, if you wouldn't mind----?
PRINGLE.
[_Moving to the door on the left._] Oh, by all means!
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_To PRINGLE._] Stop, sir! Don't you run away! For all _I_ know, _you_ may
have had a hand in this disgraceful business!
PRINGLE.
[_With dignity._] I occupy the adjoining office, sir, and I am in practice
as an architect. But I have no business connection with Mr. Ventimore--none
whatever.
[_Offering to go._
MR. WACKERBATH.
You will oblige me by staying. I should like your opinion--as an
architect--on the way I've been treated.
[_He puts down his hat on the
cabinet by the door._
PRINGLE.
Oh, if Mr. Ventimore has no objection----
HORACE.
Well--oh, stay if you think proper. [_To MR. WACKERBATH, offering
armchair on left of table._] Now, sir; if you'll sit down and compose
yourself----
MR. WACKERBATH.
I will _not_ sit down, sir, and I find it difficult to compose myself. You
know very well _why_!
HORACE.
I don't, indeed. Unless--unless you've discovered the--the means by which
you were induced to come to me yesterday. But, after all, there's no great
_harm_ done.
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Bursting with rage._] No great harm! You can stand there and tell me
_that_!
HORACE.
[_Calmly._] Certainly. If you prefer to go to some other architect, you're
perfectly free to do so.
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Frantically._] Free! _Free!!_ When the damned house is _built_!
HORACE AND PRINGLE.
[_Together, each starting back._] Built?
MR. WACKERBATH.
Built, sir, built! When my wife and I saw it on our way to the station this
morning, we could hardly believe our eyes. But my coachman--who's not given
to imagination--saw it as plain as we did. [_HORACE hears all this with
stupefaction at first, and then with growing comprehension._] And,
considering I only gave you the commission yesterday afternoon, I should
like to know how the devil you managed to put up such a place in the time?
PRINGLE.
My dear sir, as a professional man, let me assure you it would be
impossible--quite impossible. It must have been due to some effect of
mirage.
MR. WACKERBATH.
Mirage, indeed! We got out of the carriage and climbed the slope and went
all over the building! Are you going to tell me we've been all over a
_mirage_?
HORACE.
[_Half to himself._] Oh, the blithering old idiot!
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Turning on him suddenly._] Are you addressing _me_, sir?
HORACE.
No, no; not _you_! Of course not. [_With a groan._] I told him, like a
fool, where the site was--and he's done the rest during the night!
[_The door at the back flies open,
and FAKRASH appears. He is
wearing a very tall hat with a wide
flat brim, a frock-coat, baggy
shepherd's plaid trousers fitting
tightly over his ankles, and
Oriental shoes._
FAKRASH.
Greeting to ye, O company!
[_MR. WACKERBATH and PRINGLE turn
in surprise._
HORACE.
[_Sinking helplessly into his chair; half to himself._] It's with _you_,
partner! [_In an undertone to FAKRASH._] Take off your hat!
[_FAKRASH removes his tall hat with
both hands, and places it on the
top of MR. WACKERBATH'S hat. MR.
WACKERBATH, annoyed, goes to
cabinet and removes his own hat._
FAKRASH.
[_To MR. WACKERBATH._] If I mistake not, thou art the wealthy merchant for
whom this my son hath undertaken to erect a mansion?
MR. WACKERBATH.
I am, sir. And you, I presume, are Mr. Ventimore, senior?
HORACE.
No, he isn't--he's no relation of _mine_!
FAKRASH.
[_To MR. WACKERBATH, proudly._] Is he not an architect of divine skill,
and hath he not built thee a palace that might cause even the gall of a
Sultan to burst with envy?
MR. WACKERBATH.
It very nearly made _me_ burst, sir, I can tell you that!
FAKRASH.
I marvel not, for verily it is a lordly dwelling for such as thou.
MR. WACKERBATH.
"Lordly!" _You_ can call it what you like. _I_ call it a tom-fool cross
between the Brighton Pavilion and the Palm-house at Kew! No
billiard-room--and not a sign of any drainage system! And you have the
brass--the--the unblushing effrontery to expect me to accept it as a
first-class country-house with every modern convenience!
PRINGLE.
I _must_ say that, in all my professional experience, I _never_----
HORACE.
[_Rising and approaching MR. WACKERBATH._] I'd better explain, Mr.
Wackerbath. It seems that my old--er--friend here has, with the mistaken
notion that he was helping me, built this palace for you himself. I haven't
_seen_ it--but, from what I know of his talents in that line, it can't be
half a bad sort of place--in its way. And, anyhow, I shouldn't dream of
making any charge under the circumstances. We make you a _present_ of
it--perhaps you didn't understand _that_? So, surely you will accept it in
the--the spirit in which it was intended, what?
MR. WACKERBATH.
_Accept_ it! See the finest position in the neighbourhood occupied by a
jerry-built Moorish nightmare? Be the laughing-stock of the whole county?
They'd call it "Wackerbath's Folly"! I won't have it on _my_ land a day
longer than I can help! I'll go to law, sir, and _compel_ you and your
officious partner here to pull the thing down! I--I'll fight the case as
long as I can stand!
FAKRASH.
[_Who has been regarding him through this speech with glowering eyes._] "As
long as thou canst stand"? That will be for no long period, O thou
litigious one! [_He points at him with his forefinger._] On all fours--[_MR.
WACKERBATH starts in speechless indignation, and bends slightly
forward_]--thankless dog that thou art, and crawl henceforth for the
remainder of thy days!
MR. WACKERBATH.
How _dare_ you address me in that way, sir! How----[_He suddenly drops
forward on his hands._] I will _not_ go down on all fours! Do you hear,
sir? I will not!
PRINGLE.
[_Horrified._] But--Great Heavens, sir, you _are_ on all fours!
HORACE.
[_Seizing FAKRASH'S arm._] Now, Fakrash--just you stop this!
FAKRASH.
[_Shaking HORACE off._] Let me be! [_To MR. WACKERBATH._] Begone, O
contemptible of aspect! To thy kennel!
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Almost whining, as he crawls distractedly about on all fours._] I can't!
I won't! I _can't_ cross Westminster Bridge like this! What will the
officials think at Waterloo, where I've been known and respected for years?
How am I to face my wife and family in--in my present position? I _insist_
on getting up!
PRINGLE.
Then, my dear sir, why _don't_ you? Why _humour_ him?
MR. WACKERBATH.
Why, why? Because I can't _help_ myself! Damn it, sir, do you suppose I'm
doing this for my own amusement? [_To FAKRASH._] Here, turn off your
will-power, or whatever it is, and let me up! _Do_ let me up!
HORACE.
[_In disgust._] I'll not _have_ it, Fakrash! Let him up at once!
FAKRASH.
Far be this action from me! This son of a burnt dog hath dared to disdain a
palace--therefore let his abode be in the dust for evermore!
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Crawling to HORACE._] You--you _quite_ misunderstood me--I haven't a
_word_ to say against the palace. It's the very place I _wanted_!
[_Crawling up to FAKRASH._] If--if you'll only let me up, I--I'll _live_ in
it--'pon my honour I will!
HORACE.
[_With authority, to FAKRASH._] Let this unfortunate gentleman up, will
you! I _command_ you. Both on the head and eye!
FAKRASH.
[_Sullenly, to HORACE._] But for the magnitude of thy services----! Be it
as thou wilt. [_He extends his arm over MR. WACKERBATH._] Rise! [_MR.
WACKERBATH rises and drops into chair by table, exhausted._] Depart, and
show us the breadth of thy shoulders.
[_MR. WACKERBATH gets up, puffing,
and backs to the door._
HORACE.
[_Going towards him with concern._] My dear sir, you _must_ believe _I've_
had no share in this! I--I really don't know how to apologise----
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_With his eyes on FAKRASH._] Don't mention it, sir, _pray_ don't mention
it. I am perfectly satisfied--_perfectly_!
HORACE.
You _shall_ be, very soon. Fakrash, clear that palace away at once. Sharp,
now!
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Nervously, to FAKRASH._] No, no, I couldn't think of troubling you. I--I
couldn't _wish_ for a more delightful residential mansion, I assure you!
HORACE.
[_Coming to FAKRASH._] I've told you to obliterate that palace, Fakrash. Am
I to tell you _twice_?
FAKRASH.
Hath not this overfed father of dogs--[_MR. WACKERBATH starts, but controls
his resentment immediately_]--expressed his satisfaction with it?
HORACE.
It won't do, Fakrash! Do as you're told--and be quick about it.
FAKRASH.
Verily such a palace would but be defiled by his presence--therefore let it
be annihilated. [_He stalks to the window, which flies open at a wave of
his hand, after which he faces it and mutters an incantation._] Pfpht!
[_All start._] It is accomplished. Of the palace and all the splendours
therein there remaineth not a trace!
HORACE.
[_Going up to MR. WACKERBATH._] Mr. Wackerbath, you will find on your
return that that _is_ so. I've only to apologise once more for all
the--er--inconvenience you've been put to.
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Near the door._] Not at all--not at all, I assure you. [_Turning to_
FAKRASH._] I haven't quite caught your name, my dear sir, but you must allow
me to thank you for the--ah--very handsome manner in which you have met me.
FAKRASH.
[_With a menacing movement._] Begone, I say! [_MR. WACKERBATH snatches his
hat from cabinet._] Or thou mayst find thyself in some yet _more_
unfortunate predicament.
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_At the door._] Quite so--quite so! Er--delightful weather, isn't it?
[_Opening door._] Good morning, gentlemen. [_FAKRASH makes another
movement._] Good morning.
[_He goes out hurriedly._
[_FAKRASH turns to the window and
stands there with folded arms,
looking out in sombre abstraction.
PRINGLE and HORACE are on the
other side of the room._
PRINGLE.
[_Going towards the door to his office, and lowering his voice._] I don't
think you'll see any more of Mr. Wackerbath after _this_.
HORACE.
[_In an undertone._] No, I've lost _him_--thanks to that old busybody over
there. He's done _my_ business!
PRINGLE.
It serves you right for having him about. Where on earth did you pick him
up? Who _is_ he?
HORACE.
Surely you don't need to be told! Why, he's the old Jinnee who was inside
the bottle.
PRINGLE.
Rats!--excuse the vulgarity!
HORACE.
Hang it! You _must_ have noticed _something_ queer about him!
PRINGLE.
I _have_--and if _he's_ the person you're relying on to remove the
Professor's objections, I think the old gentleman should be warned against
seeing him.
[_He goes into his office and shuts
the door; HORACE returns to
table, takes up the sheet on which
he had been working, crumples it
up, and flings it away._
FAKRASH.
[_Turns from window to HORACE._] Receive news! Henceforth I shall cease to
busy myself about thine affairs.
HORACE.
[_Sardonically._] That's the best news I've heard from you--so far.
FAKRASH.
[_Gloomily._] Uneasiness hath entered into my heart and I am sore troubled.
HORACE.
So you _ought_ to be after your latest performance. I suppose you know
you've wrecked my chances as an architect? But never mind that now--have
you found time to look up the Professor yet?
FAKRASH.
I have but lately parted from him.
[_He comes to fireplace._
HORACE.
And you went to Cottesmore Gardens in _that_ kit? [_Amused in spite of
himself._] If you could only _see_ yourself!
FAKRASH.
Didst thou not order me to assume such apparel as is worn in this city?
HORACE.
I didn't say on the 5th of November! However, you _saw_ him. Did you get
your seal back?
FAKRASH.
Nay, for the sage protested that he had mislaid it!
HORACE.
Oh, well, never mind--it'll turn up in time. What I _really_ want to know
is whether you convinced him that you'd come out of the brass bottle?
FAKRASH.
[_Sombrely._] As to that I can tell thee naught. On hearing that I came
from thee, he reviled me as a person of no reputation, and threatened to
summon a certain constable and have me delivered into custody. Whereupon I
took measures--[_he smiles cunningly_]--to ensure his silence.
HORACE.
[_Falling back in his chair in sudden terror._] His--_silence_! You--you
old _devil_! You--you've not--_killed_ him!
FAKRASH.
Nay, nay, I have not so much as harmed a hair of his head.
HORACE.
[_Rising._] Phew! What a fright you gave me! [_Moving towards fireplace,
then turning._] But you've been up to _some_ devilry or other--I'm sure of
it. What _have_ you done to him? Out with it!
FAKRASH.
[_Going up towards door._] It was necessary for my security to--[_at
door_]--transform him into a one-eyed mule.
HORACE.
[_Petrified with horror._] A one-eyed _what_!
FAKRASH.
[_Walks through the door, then turns, remaining visible through the door
panels._] A one-eyed mule of hideous appearance. Farewell to thee.
[_He disappears; HORACE seizes
his hat and rushes madly out as the
curtain falls._
END OF THE FIRST SCENE OF THE THIRD ACT.
SCENE II
_The scene represents the
drawing-room at 47 Cottesmore
Gardens, Kensington._
_It is a pleasant room, tastefully
furnished. On the left a recessed
fireplace, in which are ferns; on
the mantelpiece are some large blue
and white beakers and vases. On the
right a bay-window and window-seat.
The windows are wide open, showing
window-boxes filled with scarlet
geraniums and marguerites, and a
quiet street with detached houses.
At the back, on the right, is a
door opening on the hall. To the
left of this door are sliding-doors
shutting off the PROFESSOR'S
_study. In front of these
sliding-doors is a long high backed
sofa, completely covered in chintz,
the flounce of which touches the
floor. At the rising of the curtain
these doors are closed. Behind them
are curtains. Near the fireplace
are an armchair and a small table.
Against the wall, below the
fireplace, is a cabinet. Between
the sliding-doors and the door to
the hall is another cabinet with
door, which, when opened, shows
shelves filled with ancient
pottery. Above the bay-window is a
bureau. Below it are a sofa and a
small table._
_As the curtain rises MRS. FUTVOYE
_is seen seated in chair by the
fireplace, trying to do some
embroidery, though her thoughts are
evidently elsewhere. From behind
the sliding-doors proceed sounds as
of some animal kicking and
plunging._
SYLVIA'S voice is then heard crying_: "Father, please don't!" [_A
succession of dull thuds as of battering hoofs._] "Oh, _do_ take care!"
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Lays down her work, rises, goes to the sliding-doors, and knocks._]
Anthony! _Don't_ go on like that, for goodness' sake! You _must_ try and
control yourself! Just _think_, if the _servants_ heard you! [_JESSIE, a
neat parlour-maid in morning costume, pink print, cap, and apron, enters
from hall; MRS. FUTVOYE hurriedly leaves the sofa by the sliding-doors,
goes back to her chair, and takes up her work with an elaborate assumption
of perfect calm._] What is it, Jessie? I haven't rung.
JESSIE.
I know, madam. But there's such a noise in the master's study I was afraid
something had happened.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Severely._] Then it was very _foolish_ of you. What _should_ have
happened? If you heard _anything_, it probably came from next door.
[_Sounds of stamping from within
sliding-doors, and then a noise as
if some piece of furniture had been
overturned._
JESSIE.
There it is _again_, madam! And it _does_ seem to come from the study!
[_Sounds as before, rather louder._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Oh, _that_? That's nothing, nothing! The Professor is merely shifting some
of the furniture.
JESSIE.
[_Evidently devoured by curiosity._] Won't he find it too much for him,
madam? Perhaps I might be able to help.
[_She makes a movement towards the
sliding-doors._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
You're not to go in there! You know your master allows _nobody_ to touch
his things. I can't have him disturbed.
[_More stamping and banging--then a
crash of broken glass._
JESSIE.
He seems to be disturbing of _himself_, madam--just had an accident with
something. Hadn't I better go in and clear it up?
[_She again makes a movement
towards the sliding-doors._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Certainly not! Leave the room and attend to your work. [_The front door
bell rings._] Good gracious! the visitors' bell! Jessie, I'm not at home!
_Nobody_ is at home! _Whoever_ it is, mind!
JESSIE.
[_Who has gone to the door leading to the hall and opened it, turns to
MRS. FUTVOYE._] I forgot to mention it, madam, but after that foreign
gentleman called to see the master this morning, I found there's something
wrong with the catch of the front door--leastways, I can't get it to shut,
do what I will.
[_PRINGLE comes in through the door
which JESSIE is holding open._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Rises and makes a step forward._] Mr. Pringle! You can go, Jessie.
[_JESSIE goes out with an air of
baffled curiosity._
PRINGLE.
[_Shaking hands with MRS. FUTVOYE._] Pray excuse my coming in
unannounced--but it's rather urgent.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
How do you do, Mr. Pringle? [_Indicating the sofa below the window._] Do
sit down.
PRINGLE.
I feel reassured already. I had a dreadful apprehension that I might come
_too late_.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_With a pathetic attempt to maintain appearances._] Half past twelve is
surely _quite_ early enough. Not that I am anything but delighted to see
_you_, at _any_ time.
PRINGLE.
You are very kind. [_He sits down._] But--to be quite frank--I called to
see the Professor. Could I have a word or two with him at once?
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Who has taken a chair near the sofa._] I'm _so_ sorry--but that's really
impossible just now.
PRINGLE.
Indeed? I trust he is not unwell--after last night?
MRS. FUTVOYE.
N--not _unwell_ exactly. But--not _quite_ his usual self.
[_More noise from study, and
SYLVIA'S voice heard exclaiming:_
"Papa! Papa!"
PRINGLE.
[_Looking round._] He seems to be in his study,--and I thought I heard Miss
Sylvia's voice.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Yes--yes--he--he's particularly busy this morning.
[_Increased noise._
PRINGLE.
[_Puzzled._] So it appears. But--[_rising_]--I wouldn't interrupt him for
long, and it really is _most_ important.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Rising in agitation._] I do assure you he can see _nobody_ at present.
[_She seats herself, persuading him
to sit down also._
PRINGLE.
But, Mrs. Futvoye,--if you knew what I have discovered----!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Rising again._] Discovered!
PRINGLE.
About Ventimore. I want to put the Professor on his guard against receiving
any--er--emissary from him.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Slightly relieved._] Oh, he's not likely to do _that_--he has _much_ more
important matters to think about!
[_The noise is renewed; stamping,
plunging, overturned chairs._
PRINGLE.
Just so. Then--if I might speak to Miss Sylvia?
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Hastily._] _She_ is very busy too, helping my husband. [_Here the noise
reaches its finale in a resounding crash and clatter of falling furniture
and shivered glass; MRS. FUTVOYE proceeds without appearing to have
noticed it._] He--he sometimes makes use of her as--as his amanuensis.
[_The sliding-doors are suddenly
run back, and SYLVIA appears. She
does not see PRINGLE, who has
risen and moved to the right, from
which position he can see into the
study. MRS. FUTVOYE makes a
movement towards her to check any
disclosures._
SYLVIA.
[_In despair._] Oh, Mother! Mother! You _must_ come to father! He's kicking
worse than ever, and I can't manage him any longer!
PRINGLE.
[_To himself, recoiling, after a glance through the sliding-doors, off._]
My _hat_!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Warningly, as SYLVIA carefully closes sliding-doors, pushes the sofa
aside, and comes down._] Sylvia! Don't you see Mr. Pringle?
SYLVIA.
[_Turning and starting._] Oh! What _have_ I said?
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Nothing, my dear. [_Turning to PRINGLE._] I must ask you to excuse me, Mr.
Pringle. My husband is a little irritable this morning. [_Going up to
sliding-doors._] A sharp attack of--of gout. In both legs, you know! [_She
slips in behind the long sofa, pushes back doors, draws the curtains behind
them._] Anthony, you must _not_ excite yourself like this.
[_She goes into study, closing the
sliding-doors after her. A slight
pause. SYLVIA pushes the sofa
back against the sliding-doors and
seats herself on it._
PRINGLE.
[_Approaching the sofa, with sympathy._] I really had no idea your father
was--was as bad as all _this_.
SYLVIA.
[_On her guard._] People _do_ kick, Mr. Pringle, when they have gout--in
both legs.
PRINGLE.
_Do_ they? I should hardly have thought--particularly--[_with meaning_]--if
they've gout in--all four.
SYLVIA.
[_Shrinking back._] "All four!" Then--you _know_!
PRINGLE.
Pardon me--but I couldn't help catching a glimpse just now--through these
doors.
SYLVIA.
A glimpse? What did you--_suppose_ you saw?
PRINGLE.
I had an impression--of course I may be quite wrong!--that any one who
didn't _know_ your father might almost mistake him, at first sight, for--I
am trying to put it as delicately as I can--for some kind
of--er--_quadruped_.
[_He sits on sofa beside her._
SYLVIA.
You mean a _mule_! [_She rises in tears, and crosses to the mantelpiece._]
I think I could have borne it better if he'd only been a _nice_ mule.
B--but--[_breaking down_]--he _isn't_!
PRINGLE.
[_Rising and going towards her._] You don't say so! [_Sympathetically._]
That, of course, must make it all the harder for you.
SYLVIA.
[_Tearfully._] His temper is simply _fearful_! Why, just now, when I said
he must try to manage some oats or a carrot for lunch, he--he lashed out
and sent his hoofs through the mummy-case!
PRINGLE.
Dear--dear! Perhaps if you could persuade him to see a vet----[_Correcting
himself._] I mean a _doctor_----
SYLVIA.
[_Crossing towards sofa on right._] It would be no use--he never _will_
take medicine! And what are we to _do_ with him? It's too dreadful to think
that he may have to be sent to--to a Home of Rest for Horses!
[_She sinks on sofa, and bursts
into tears once more._
PRINGLE.
[_Following her._] He never _was_ what you might call a "horsey" man--let
us hope he won't come to _that_! Have you any idea how he came to
be--er--affected like this?
SYLVIA.
[_Resentfully, through her tears._] There's no _affectation_ about it, Mr.
Pringle--oh, you mean "afflicted"--we can't _think_. He wasn't as bright as
usual at breakfast--I think he was rather worried because he couldn't find
that seal Horace lent him last night----
PRINGLE.
But no amount of _worry_----! Pardon me, I interrupt you.
[_He takes a chair by the sofa._
SYLVIA.
Well; then Jessie came in to say that a foreign gentleman had called to see
him on important business. Father told her to show him into the study, and
went in presently to hear what he came about. We heard them arguing, and
father's voice seemed to be getting angry, so mother went in to beg him
not to excite himself. She found father alone, and--just as she opened the
door--he--he changed into a mule before her eyes.
[_She breaks down entirely._
PRINGLE.
Really? It--it must have upset her considerably.
SYLVIA.
It _did_. But, luckily, mother never loses her head. She locked the study
doors at once, and we shut these, and I don't _think_ the servants suspect
anything at present. But they're sure to find out before long.
PRINGLE.
Yes. I'm afraid it's bound to leak out.
SYLVIA.
But how could this horrible thing have happened?
PRINGLE.
[_Solemnly._] My dear Miss Sylvia, let me remind you that "there are more
things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in----"
SYLVIA.
[_Petulantly._] Oh, don't quote that _now_, Mr. Pringle! It _is_ so stale!
PRINGLE.
[_With wounded dignity._] It may be stale--but it's Shakespeare! And I can
only conclude that--even in the twentieth century--magic is not the lost
art I had always imagined it.
SYLVIA.
[_Turning to him with more interest._] Then _you_ believe now that Horace
_did_ find a Jinnee in that brass bottle?
PRINGLE.
[_Rising._] No, no. I don't go as far as _that_.
SYLVIA.
How far _do_ you go?
PRINGLE.
Well, I know that Ventimore is associated with an elderly Oriental who
possesses extraordinary will-power. This very morning, in Ventimore's own
office, they played a highly unprofessional and discreditable trick between
them on your own godfather, Mr. Wackerbath.
SYLVIA.
On godfather! No, no, I'm sure Horace had nothing to do with _that_!
PRINGLE.
I was _there_--and he evidently had a great _deal_ to do with it. I thought
at the time it was hypnotism--but it's clear enough _now_ that this
confederate of Ventimore's is a powerful and most unscrupulous magician.
SYLVIA.
[_Springing up indignantly, and crossing to fireplace._] I won't hear any
more! You're trying to make me doubt Horace again--but you can't! you
_can't_! I _know_ he'd never send a magician to hurt father! [_As HORACE
enters from the hall, looking pale and wild._] Ah! Horace, you needn't
tell me! _You_ at least have no share in what has happened!
HORACE.
[_Going to her and taking both her hands._] Darling! For Heaven's sake tell
me what _has_ happened?
SYLVIA.
[_Triumphantly._] You hear, Mr. Pringle? He doesn't even know! _Now_ will
you dare to repeat what you were saying--to his face?
PRINGLE.
If you insist. I've been saying, Ventimore, that I believe _you_ to have
inspired this abominable transformation of the Professor.
HORACE.
It's true, then? He--he really _is_ a mule?
SYLVIA.
[_Disengaging herself, with a sudden doubt._] Horace, tell me--_did_ you
send any one to father!
HORACE.
[_Sinking into chair by sofa._] Heaven forgive me! I did.
SYLVIA.
[_Recoiling from him with aversion._] To transform him into a mule?
[_She goes to a chair below
fireplace, and seats herself in
despair._
HORACE.
[_Rising and going towards her._] No, no! I wanted old Fakrash to convince
him that he really _had_ been in the bottle--but not like _this_! I thought
I could trust him to do _that_! [_Bitterly._] But I might have known!
PRINGLE.
So you still stick to that story about the Jinnee?
HORACE.
Surely even _you_ must believe it now?
PRINGLE.
I--I admit that it doesn't seem so incredible as it did. But, if true,
there's all the less excuse for you. Because you can make this Jinnee, or
whatever he is, do anything you tell him. You can't deny that--I've seen
you _do_ it, you know!
SYLVIA.
Ah!
HORACE.
I can manage him right enough when he's _there_--it's when I haven't got my
eye on him that he makes all these mistakes.
SYLVIA.
But _why_ should he change poor father into a one-eyed mule? It's so
utterly unreasonable!
HORACE.
I'm afraid the Professor alarmed him by threatening to send for a
constable. However, darling--and this is what I'm here to tell you--it
won't last long. _I'll_ take care that your father will soon be restored.
SYLVIA.
[_Rising, overjoyed._] You _will_? Oh, I _must_ tell them! [_Rushing to the
sliding-doors and slightly opening them._] Mother, mother! I've
news--_good_ news!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Looking cautiously through the opening._] What is it, Sylvia? [_Sees
HORACE with displeasure._] Mr. Ventimore! _You_ here! [_Stamping heard
from study. MRS. FUTVOYE turns and speaks over her shoulder._] Keep
back, Anthony! Keep back! Remember--you're not fit to be seen, as you
_are_!
SYLVIA.
[_Happily._] It doesn't matter, mother. They _both_ know. And Horace is
going to make father all right again.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Oh, in _that_ case----
[_She pushes the sofa aside and
comes through, leaving the
sliding-doors open, and pulling the
curtains back, but replacing the
sofa._
HORACE.
Mrs. Futvoye, I've something to say which I think will cheer the Professor
up a bit.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Unless you can say how and when my husband may expect to see an end of all
this----
HORACE.
I shall make old Fakrash see to that.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Make old Fakrash see to it?
HORACE.
The Jinnee I let out of that brass bottle. I told you all about him last
night. You didn't believe me _then_.
PRINGLE.
None of us did. But I'm afraid, Mrs. Futvoye, we've got to believe now.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_To HORACE._] Then--are _you_ responsible for this?
HORACE.
Indirectly. Only indirectly. I couldn't prevent Fakrash making an ass of
himself.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
You might have prevented his making a mule of my husband!
[_Another plunge and crash of glass
from behind._
HORACE.
I wasn't consulted! But I will say _this_ for old Fakrash--nobody's readier
to repair a blunder when once it's pointed out to him. He'll do anything
for _me_.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Then send for him and _insist_ on his repairing what he's done here.
SYLVIA.
[_Eagerly, down on right._] Yes, yes. Send for him, Horace, _send_ for him!
HORACE.
[_Heavily._] I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use.
PRINGLE.
Nonsense! You could make him come if you _chose_!
HORACE.
I tell you I can't. I don't even know where he is--or if he hasn't gone off
to Arabia again----
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Off to Arabia! [_Going towards him._] And when--_when_ is he likely to be
_back_?
HORACE.
[_Suddenly._] Oh! [_He collapses into the chair above the fireplace._]
I--I've only just remembered. He told me he was going to _settle down_
there!
[_General consternation._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
And is my husband to remain a mule for the rest of his life?
[_Furious plunging heard from
study._
HORACE.
[_In a choked voice._] Don't ask me, Mrs. Futvoye--don't _ask_ me!
_Pringle._
[_Coming towards HORACE._] I _thought_, Ventimore, you came to cheer the
Professor up?
SYLVIA.
Horace, if you don't summon that odious Jinnee this instant, I shall _hate_
you! I'm _beginning_ to, as it is!
HORACE.
[_Rising and coming towards her._] My darling, I'd do any mortal thing I
could--but I'm helpless! [_At this instant FAKRASH, in Oriental robe and
turban, and a long green cloak, suddenly emerges from the cabinet between
the sliding-doors and the door to the hall, and stands scowling and
evidently trying to repress both rage and fear. HORACE sees him first._]
No, I'm not! Hooray! we're saved! He's turned up, after all! [_The others
retreat towards the fireplace in alarm._] Leave him to _me_. _I_ know how
to manage him. [_He approaches FAKRASH._] So here you are! If you aren't
ashamed of yourself, you jolly well _ought_ to be! A pretty mess you've
landed us in this time! Just you get us _out_ of it again!
FAKRASH.
[_Waving him aside._] No greeting to thee! I have come upon my own
affairs.
HORACE.
You'll attend to _mine_ first. Undo this infamous spell of yours--do you
hear?
FAKRASH.
[_Sullenly._] I will grant nothing more at _thy_ request.
HORACE.
I don't think you quite understand. I don't _request_--I _command_. On the
head and on the eye!
FAKRASH.
Thou art wasting breath. No longer am I under obligation to thee, O thou
perfidious one!
HORACE.
[_Anxiously._] Why--what's _come_ to you? [_Coaxingly._] I say!
Fakrash--old _chappie_. Don't play the goat _now_! You _can't_ mean to
leave me on the mat like this!
FAKRASH.
[_Glaring at him._] Canst thou not perceive how hateful thou hast become to
me?
HORACE.
I _do_ notice a coolness. But _why_? You were chummy enough not half an
hour ago!
FAKRASH.
[_Going from him towards right._] I had not then discovered thy treachery.
HORACE.
You're barking up the wrong tree, as usual, you know. Come--tell me what
it's all about?
FAKRASH.
Not now. I will deal with thee hereafter, misbegotten cur that thou art!
[_He stalks towards window._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_From below fireplace, to HORACE._] You don't seem to be managing him very
well _so_ far.
PRINGLE.
[_Coming down to HORACE._] You gave us to understand that he would do
_anything_ for you.
HORACE.
So he will, generally--but not just now. [_Crossing to MRS. FUTVOYE and
SYLVIA, while FAKRASH remains apart, with his back to the others._] He's
suddenly turned nasty--I've no idea why. But I shall bring him round--in
time.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
It's my _husband_ who has to be brought round--and there's no time to be
lost!
HORACE.
I know--but if I press Fakrash in his present mood, I shall only make
matters worse.
PRINGLE.
Well, if you can't--or _won't_--get him to do something, one of _us_ must
try! Perhaps if Miss Sylvia could bring herself to appeal to his better
feelings----?
SYLVIA.
[_Shrinking back._] People who come out of bottles can't _have_ better
feelings! I couldn't--_really_, I couldn't.
PRINGLE.
You'd rather not? [_SYLVIA shudders._] Then I must see what _I_ can do.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
How _good_ of you!
HORACE.
[_Drawing PRINGLE back as he is going towards FAKRASH._] I _wouldn't_,
Pringle! He's in a vile temper. And, unless you're _anxious_ to become a
domestic animal of some sort----
SYLVIA.
_Pray_ don't run such a risk, dear Mr. Pringle!
PRINGLE.
I shall be very careful, and I trust that, with ordinary tact----[_He
makes a step towards FAKRASH._] Ahem! [_FAKRASH turns suddenly round with a
feline snarl; all retreat to left; PRINGLE pulls himself together and
tries again._] My--my dear sir, may I ask your attention for a few moments?
FAKRASH.
[_Striding towards him._] Who art _thou_?--a friend of yonder serpent's?
HORACE.
[_Indignantly._] Oh, I say! "Serpent," you know! "Serpent" is a bit----
[_FAKRASH ignores him._
PRINGLE.
No, no, I repudiate him. I represent this unfortunate family--_they_
repudiate him too.
MRS. FUTVOYE AND SYLVIA.
[_Together._] Yes, yes, indeed--_indeed_ we do!
[_HORACE sinks speechlessly on
chair by sofa on right._
FAKRASH.
[_To PRINGLE._] I will hearken unto thee, for indeed thou seemest a person
of abundant intelligence and excellent conduct.
PRINGLE.
You're very kind--I hope I _am_. Hem! [_Going nearer FAKRASH._] I am sure,
sir, that, if you had realised the serious embarrassment you have caused
the members of this household by transforming its head into a one-eyed
mule, you would never have allowed your--your sense of humour to carry you
so far.
FAKRASH.
For mine own safety was it accomplished--for the sage threatened to deliver
me into custody.
HORACE.
[_Starting up and coming towards FAKRASH._] He never _meant_ it! And,
anyhow, _you're_ safe enough!
FAKRASH.
[_Turning on him fiercely._] Hold thy lying tongue!
PRINGLE.
Ventimore, I must beg you not to interfere.
HORACE.
Damn it all, Pringle, he's _my_ Jinnee--not yours!
[_He attempts to join MRS. FUTVOYE
and SYLVIA, who turn their backs
on him, after which he returns to
his former place, crushed._
PRINGLE.
[_To FAKRASH._] Evidently, sir, there has been some slight misunderstanding
on both sides. But I feel confident that, if you will only consent to see
this unfortunate gentleman, the matter can very soon be amicably arranged.
FAKRASH.
I am here for this very purpose. Let this learned man appear before me.
PRINGLE.
I won't keep you waiting long. [_He goes up to the sliding-doors and
calls._] Professor! If you will kindly step this way, Mr. Fakrash would be
glad to see you.
[_A pause. THE MULE comes slowly
on from the left side of the
sliding doors._
HORACE.
[_Overwhelmed._] Great Heavens above!
PRINGLE.
[_Trying to be polite and at his ease._] Er--how do you do, Professor?
Sorry to see you looking so--so unlike yourself. [_THE MULE shows
irritation; PRINGLE retreats nervously; then, in an undertone to MRS.
FUTVOYE._] He--he can't jump that sofa, can he?
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_In an undertone, to him._] Of course not--that's why it's there!
PRINGLE.
[_To FAKRASH._] A distinguished archaeologist, sir, a corresponding member
of every learned society in Europe--reduced to these extremities! [_To
THE MULE, which seems to feel its position acutely._] Professor, as
Ventimore has refused to interfere, I have taken on myself to assure
this--this venerable Jane----
HORACE.
[_In an undertone to PRINGLE._] _Jinnee!_ Call him "Jinnee"!
PRINGLE.
[_To HORACE._] I prefer to leave such familiarities to _you_,
Ventimore----[_To MULE._]--this venerable _personage_, Professor, that if
you have inadvertently offended him, you are ready to make any reasonable
apology. That is so?
[_THE MULE bows its head._
FAKRASH.
Ask if he be willing to surrender the stopper of the bottle wherein I was
enclosed.
[_MULE shakes head._
PRINGLE.
Now, Professor, if you consent to a request which I must say seems to me a
very moderate and proper one, will you--er--signify the same in the usual
manner by raising--er--your right ear?
[_THE MULE'S left ear goes up
sharply._
FAKRASH.
The _left_ ear! He refuseth!
PRINGLE.
No, no, he _meant_ the right ear--he hasn't got complete muscular control
as yet. I _really_ think we should get on better if you gave him back his
power of speech.
FAKRASH.
It may be so. [_He approaches THE MULE and addresses it._] O thou of
remarkable attainments, whom I have caused to assume the shape of this
mule, speak, I command thee, and say if thou wilt restore my stopper.
THE MULE.
[_Laying back its ears and showing its teeth._] I'll see you damned first!
[_General sensation._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Going towards THE MULE in distress._] Oh! he wouldn't be so obstinate
if he wasn't a mule!
FAKRASH.
[_To THE MULE._] Thou art trifling with my safety and thine own! Reveal
unto me the spot in which thou hast hidden the stopper and delay not--for
it will be no difficult undertaking to transform these women of thine into
mules like thyself.
[_Horror of MRS. FUTVOYE and
SYLVIA, _and despair and rage of
HORACE, who rises and rushes
towards FAKRASH.
THE MULE.
You can _do_ it for all _I_ care----!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Oh, Anthony!
THE MULE.
We shall at least be a more united family than we are now!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Frantically._] Anthony! Don't provoke him! Think of _others_!
FAKRASH.
[_With some anxiety._] Hearken! I am disposed to show thee indulgence.
Obey,--and I will restore thee to what thou wert.
THE MULE.
Why couldn't you say so before? I'll accept _those_ terms, as there's no
alternative. Only--[_with his head on one side reflectively_]--I can't for
the life of me recollect what I _did_ with that seal. Tut-tut!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Oh, Anthony! Think! Think!
[_General suspense and excitement._
THE MULE.
[_Irritably._] I _am_ thinking, Sophia! [_After further reflection._] Ah! I
remember now! I put it inside one of the vases on the mantelpiece, for
safety.
[HORACE looks aimlessly under the
table and sofa; MRS. FUTVOYE,
SYLVIA, and PRINGLE rush to the
fireplace and search the vases._
MRS. FUTVOYE AND SYLVIA.
[_Turning vases upside down._] Which? Which? No. It's not _there_! It's not
_here._
PRINGLE.
[_As he finds the metal cap in the last vase._] I've got it! [_Going to
FAKRASH, and presenting it._] Allow me, sir.
[_FAKRASH snatches it eagerly.
PRINGLE goes up to THE MULE and
reassures it, MRS. FUTVOYE
accompanying him._
FAKRASH.
[_Gloating over the cap._] It is indeed my stopper! Now shall I be secure
from disturbance!
HORACE.
[_Going to FAKRASH, seizing his arm, and drawing him to the right; then,
in an undertone._] Pitch into me afterwards if you like--but listen now.
You _must_ keep _your_ side of the bargain!
FAKRASH.
[_Coldly._] What _I_ have promised I perform.
HORACE.
[_Relieved._] Ah, I _knew_ you were a good old sort--at bottom. And--I
say--_do_ make them understand that _I've_ had nothing to do with all
this.
FAKRASH.
[_Grimly._] Have no uneasiness--for thou shalt receive justice. [_HORACE
retires to sofa on right, expecting to be rehabilitated._] Hear, O
company, my words! I repent of my conduct in obeying the orders of yonder
wretch--[_pointing to HORACE, who gasps in stupefaction_]--who is seeking
even now to deter me from showing kindness.
HORACE.
Liar! _Liar!_
FAKRASH.
Being desirous of escaping marriage with this damsel--[_with a step
towards SYLVIA_]--he commanded me to transform her father as ye see. And I,
whom he had delivered from a bottle of brass, was compelled by gratitude to
fulfil all his desires.
HORACE.
[_Going up to FAKRASH furiously._] You infernal old scoundrel! [_FAKRASH
smiles malignantly and stalks off to the right; HORACE crosses to
SYLVIA._] _You_ don't believe him, Sylvia? You _can't_!
SYLVIA.
Don't speak to me! Don't come near me!
[_MRS. FUTVOYE and PRINGLE
express disgust and indignation._
HORACE.
You're devilish _hard_ on me, all of you. [_He staggers to the sofa in
front of sliding-doors and falls back, hitting his head against THE MULE'S
nose; THE MULE makes a grab at him; he rises in confusion._] I--I beg
your pardon, sir!
[_He retreats to the left of the
sofa._
SYLVIA.
[_Down on left, to FAKRASH._] But you won't obey him any longer, _will_
you? You _are_ going to restore poor father?
FAKRASH.
[_On the right._] Let him first swear that he and all his household will
preserve secrecy concerning this affair.
THE MULE.
[_Angrily._] Damn it, sir, we're not likely to _chatter_ about it!
PRINGLE.
[_Approaching FAKRASH, reassuringly._] It will never be allowed to go
beyond the family.
FAKRASH.
[_To PRINGLE._] O eloquent and comely-faced one, I accept thy undertaking,
for thou art indeed a worthy and honourable person. [_As PRINGLE, highly
flattered, returns to THE MULE, FAKRASH beckons MRS. FUTVOYE._] In order
that I may restore thy husband, bring me hither a cup of fair water.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
There's some in the dining-room. [_Going towards door to hall._] At least,
it's _filtered_, if _that_ will do!
THE MULE.
Don't ask foolish questions, Sophia--do as you're _told_!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_With dignity._] I think you forget yourself, Anthony!
[_PRINGLE opens the door for her,
and she goes out._
SYLVIA.
[_Going to PRINGLE, and taking his hand._] Dear, _dear_ Mr. Pringle!
Where _should_ we be without _you_?
PRINGLE.
[_Modestly._] Don't _mention_ it, Miss Sylvia! That is--no trouble, I
assure you!
[_They come down together to the
left, talking in dumb show._
HORACE.
[_Going to FAKRASH on the right._] You--you pig-headed old
muddler--[_pointing to SYLVIA and PRINGLE_]--look at _that_! You've done
for me _this_ time.
FAKRASH.
[_Darkly._] Nay--not yet.
[_MRS. FUTVOYE enters from the
hall, carrying a glass goblet full
of water._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_To FAKRASH._] I've brought it in this, but if you _prefer_ a
breakfast-cup----
THE MULE.
[_Impatiently._] What the devil does it matter? Let him get _on_ with it!
FAKRASH.
[_As he meets MRS. FUTVOYE and takes the goblet from her._] This will
serve. [_He goes up to THE MULE and sprinkles some drops of water on its
head._] Quit this form and return unto the form in which thou wert!
[_THE MULE fades into the
PROFESSOR, who appears gasping and
in an extremely bad temper;
PRINGLE shifts the sofa to let him
pass; FAKRASH retires to near the
window._
SYLVIA.
[_Rushing to the PROFESSOR._] Father!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Coming to his other side._] Now, Anthony, after all you have been
through, you'd better sit down for a little.
SYLVIA.
[_As she and MRS. FUTVOYE bring him down to the chair left of sofa on
right._] It _is_ lovely to have you back, father dear!
PRINGLE.
[_Joining them._] You're looking better _already_, sir!
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
[_Sinking into the chair by sofa._] Tut-tut! There, there--nothing to make
all this fuss about! If one of you had only had the sense to try cold
water, I should have come round _long_ before this!
SYLVIA.
But, father!--you forget that, but for Mr. Pringle----
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
No, my dear, I do _not_. I owe much--very much--to Pringle's good
offices--as I shall remember, my dear Pringle, as I shall _remember_. But I
attribute my restoration in some measure to the fact that--from first to
last--I was able to preserve perfect calm and self-control.
PRINGLE.
[_With an involuntary glance at the study, in which every article of
furniture is smashed._] Quite _so_! And now I want you--all three--to
celebrate your recovery by dining with me this evening at the Savoy. You
promised you would last night, Professor. Not in the restaurant--I'll
engage a private room.
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
No, no--not to-night, my boy. I don't feel up to going out just yet.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Nonsense, Anthony! You can dine out anywhere _now_, you know--and it will
do you good. Thank you, Mr. Pringle, we shall be delighted. Sha'n't we,
Sylvia?
SYLVIA.
I think I would rather stay at home this evening, mother.
[_PRINGLE tries to persuade her in
by-play._
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
[_Rising._] We'll come, Pringle, we'll come. [_To FAKRASH, who is still
standing by the window._] Now then, sir, you've got all you came for--what
are you waiting for?
FAKRASH.
To receive thy thanks.
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
_What?_ For exposing me to all this humiliation! You'll get no thanks from
_me_, sir--and the sooner you and your accomplice relieve this house of
your presence the better!
FAKRASH.
[_Moving to right behind the sofa._] Let the rat, while he is still between
the leopard's paws, observe rigidly all the laws of politeness! Take
heed--or thou mayst become more hideous even than a mule!
[_General sensation._
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
Eh? I spoke hastily--but I meant nothing offensive! I--I'm very much
obliged to you. And now don't let us detain you--_either_ of you--from your
other engagements.
HORACE.
[_Coming forward._] I'm going, sir--but I must say one last word to
Sylvia----!
FAKRASH.
[_To SYLVIA._] Hearken not to this deceiver, O damsel,--for he will never
wed thee!
SYLVIA.
[_Indignantly._] I'll never wed _him_!
FAKRASH.
Thou wilt not--for he is betrothed to a darker bride.
HORACE.
What!
SYLVIA.
Ah! [_To HORACE, coldly._] The--the lady I met last night? I wish you
every happiness. [_Turning to PRINGLE._] On second thoughts, Mr. Pringle, I
_will_ come to dinner to-night.
[_PRINGLE expresses his
gratification._
HORACE.
[_Going nearer SYLVIA._] Sylvia! It may be for the last time----!
FAKRASH.
It is! Come! [_He extends his right hand towards HORACE, who is
irresistibly drawn backwards to him._] For I will tarry no longer.
[_He seizes his arm._
HORACE.
[_Making an ineffectual resistance._] Let me go, Fakrash! Where are you
taking me to?
FAKRASH.
[_Seizes him round the waist._] To meet--[_he soars up with HORACE
through the open window on the right, and the remainder of the sentence is
continued outside in mid-air_]--thy bride!
[_The others go to window and gaze
after them, pointing upwards._
PRINGLE.
[_With solemn disapproval._] Disgraceful! They've flown right over the
chimney-pots!
THE CURTAIN FALLS.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
THE FOURTH ACT
SCENE I
HORACE'S rooms, as in the opening of the play_.
_The time is immediately after the close of the Third Act._
_As the curtain rises MRS. RAPKIN
_is arranging various articles on
the table_. RAPKIN enters from the
door leading to landing, carrying a
pair of boots on trees, which he
takes into HORACE'S bedroom by
the door down on the right, and
then returns._
RAPKIN.
[_Uneasily, to MRS. RAPKIN._] Marire, did Mr. Ventimore _say_ anythink this
morning--regarding last night?
MRS. RAPKIN.
Ah, you may well ask! After sneakin' off first thing like you did, and
leavin' me to make your excuses!
RAPKIN.
You'd some to make on your own, Marire. [_Sitting on right of table._] If
his friends got any dinner, it was no thanks to _you_!
MRS. RAPKIN.
I'd never have gone if I 'adn't fancied the 'ouse was changed into Arabian
'alls and full o' grinnin' niggers!
RAPKIN.
_Fancied!_ Why, _I_ see 'em same as you did, didn't I?
MRS. RAPKIN.
You! You'd ha' seen anythink in the condition _you_ was in! And, any'ow,
the 'ouse was just as usual when we come in.
RAPKIN.
It _was_--and that on'y made it all the rummier! For you can't deny as
there was _somethink_ queer goin' on 'ere.
MRS. RAPKIN.
[_Severely._] There was _you_, William! And you'll go on from bad to worse
if you don't give up nippin'!
[_She goes up to bookcase on the
left._
RAPKIN.
Oh, come _orf_ it, Marire! You tole me yourself you see a percession of
camels stop at our door long before _I_ got 'ome!
MRS. RAPKIN.
And I did--if it was my last words. Camuels and furrin' parties as brought
in packages off of them. Luckily, they was all gone afore the neighbours
'ad time to take notice. [_Coming down to table._] And the best thing you
and me can do is to let bygones _be_ bygones, and 'old our tongues about
it.
RAPKIN.
All very fine--but 'ow do we know Mr. Ventimore mayn't be up to _more_ of
these 'ere games?
MRS. RAPKIN.
Mr. Ventimore! I _did_ blame him--at first. But I'm sure now as _'e_ 'ad
nothink to do with it. Poor dear young gentleman, we've never known 'im
beyave otherwise than _as_ a gentleman, and----[_There is a sound outside
of rushing wind, as FAKRASH swoops down with HORACE and both alight on
the balcony; MRS. RAPKIN turns, screams, and sinks into a chair on the
right of the fireplace._] Bless us and save us! Oh, Mr. Ventimore!
[_Seeing FAKRASH._] And who's _that_?
HORACE.
[_Disengaging himself from FAKRASH, and stepping in._] That will do, Mrs.
Rapkin. Can't I bring a--a friend in with me without your making all this
fuss about it?
MRS. RAPKIN.
[_Rising, with dignity._] When you and your friends come flyin' in at
first-floor windows like pidgins, Mr. Ventimore, you must expect _some_
notice to be took. [_RAPKIN makes a movement to the left as though
fascinated by FAKRASH, who stands impassively by the window._] It's
giving my 'ouse a bad name, and, as I've always kep' these apartments
respectable 'itherto, you'll be good enough to find others where they're
less partickler, for put up with it I won't!
HORACE.
All right, all right! You can go now--[_touching RAPKIN, who seems
spellbound with fear of FAKRASH_]--_both_ of you. I've some business to
settle with this--gentleman.
MRS. RAPKIN.
[_At door._] I'm going.
RAPKIN.
[_As he follows, still keeping his eyes on FAKRASH._] 'E's done it,
Marire--sold 'isself, _'e_ 'as! Ah! [_As he goes out with MRS. RAPKIN._] I
wouldn't be in _his_ shoes for somethink!
[_The moment they have gone HORACE
rushes to the door, opens it to
make sure that they are not
listening outside, then locks it,
and comes down to FAKRASH in a
white rage._
HORACE.
Now then, you--you unspeakable old swine! What do you _mean_ by bringing me
here like this?
FAKRASH.
[_Crossing to the right._] Verily I was tempted to drop thee in mid-air,
forgetting my purpose.
HORACE.
To introduce me to that precious bride of yours, eh? I've told you already
I'll have nothing to do with her.
FAKRASH.
Thou canst not escape _this_ bride--[_he suddenly produces a huge scimitar
and brandishes it_]--for her name is--Death!
HORACE.
Death! I say, you don't mean that! [_As FAKRASH advances on him with a
sweep of the scimitar, which HORACE ducks to avoid._] Yes, you do!
[_Backing below window._] By Gad! you're _dangerous_! Well, just tell me
_this_--what on earth have I done to deserve death?
FAKRASH.
I have brought thee hither--not to parley with thee, but to strike off thy
head in the very place of thy perjuries.
HORACE.
[_Trying to keep cool._] I see. You seem to have forgotten that this is the
very place where I let you out of that bottle.
FAKRASH.
[_Wrathfully._] Far better were it hadst thou suffered me to remain
therein!
HORACE.
I quite agree with you _there_. [_As FAKRASH makes another cut at him
with the scimitar._] Now, before you begin this execution, you'd better
listen to me. You've got hold of some quite imaginary grievance, and I can
tell you you'll look uncommonly foolish if you find after you've cut off my
head that there's nothing _in_ it--[_correcting himself, annoyed_]--in the
_grievance_, I mean!
FAKRASH.
O thou of plausible tongue, know that I have discovered thy treachery and
deceit! Didst thou not assure me that I was free to wander where I would,
since there was no longer any that had authority over the Jinn!
HORACE.
I don't _know_ of anybody that has. [_Half to himself._] Wish to Heaven I
did!
FAKRASH.
[_With raised scimitar._] Thou hast lied--for there _is_ such a potentate!
Since I visited thee this morn I have traversed many lands--and in _all_
have I seen the signs of his dominion and his wrath against us of the Jinn!
HORACE.
[_Blankly._] I've no _idea_ what you're driving at.
FAKRASH.
Again thou liest! [_As he is about to raise scimitar again HORACE keeps
FAKRASH'S right arm down._] From this very spot whereon we stand thou
canst behold such signs. [_Pointing with left hand through the open
windows._] Tell me, what are yonder strongholds of blackened brick?
HORACE.
[_Mystified._] Those? Oh, factories--works of sorts.
FAKRASH.
[_Pointing with scimitar._] And yonder strange and gigantic cylinders red
as blood?
HORACE.
[_Pushing FAKRASH'S hand away._] Gasometers.
FAKRASH.
Call them what thou wilt--they are prison-houses! All, all dungeons wherein
my wretched brethren labour in torment till the Day of Doom! [_Pacing
towards the right._] And every city throughout the world is filled with
such abominations! Therefore--[_turning on him again_]--before I slay thee,
I demand that thou tell me the name of the potentate by whom these
punishments are imposed.
HORACE.
[_Whose expression during the above speech shows that a way out is
beginning to suggest itself; to himself._] If I can--if only I _can_! [_As
FAKRASH again waves the scimitar._] All right! I'll try to tell you. [_He
seats himself on the edge of the table._] The--er--potentate has several
names, but his most popular title is Progress.
FAKRASH.
[_Salaaming._] On whom be peace!
HORACE.
By all means! Well, Progress has subdued the--er--unruly forces of Nature,
and compelled them to labour for humanity.
FAKRASH.
Then why didst thou conceal from me that I, too, am in danger of being
seized and condemned to toil?
HORACE.
Why? Because I thought you were such a respectable, harmless old foozle
that you'd never do anything to deserve it. [_Watching him._] But, of
course, you _will_ if you cut my head off. You'll have a much worse time
than ever you had in the bottle!
FAKRASH.
I know it. For no other reason have I recovered my stopper but to return
into my bottle once more.
HORACE.
[_Relieved._] I think you're wise. [_Getting down from the table._] And I
tell you what--if you'll only make it worth my while I'll seal you up
myself.
FAKRASH.
O thou of imperfect understanding! Ere I re-enter my bottle thy head will
already have been smitten from thy shoulders. [_Pointing scimitar across
table at HORACE._] How, then, couldst thou----?
HORACE.
[_Wincing._] You needn't go on--I quite see your point. Only--if _I_ don't
seal you up, who _will_?
FAKRASH.
[_Confidently._] I shall summon my Efreets to enclose me within the bottle
and transport it to the Sea of El-Karkar, where I shall be undisturbed.
HORACE.
[_Slightly dashed for the moment._] Oh! is _that_ the idea? [_Catching at a
straw._] But _Efreets_, eh? [_Watching him keenly._] Are you quite sure you
can _trust_ 'em? You know what Efreets _are_! [_With triumph, as FAKRASH
plucks at his beard uneasily._] Ah! I _thought_ you did!
FAKRASH.
Thinkest thou that they might betray me?
HORACE.
They'd _love_ it! And as soon as they got you safely corked up, what's to
prevent them from handing you over to Progress? Progress won't put up with
_your_ little ways--you can't go about beheading architects in _this_
country without paying for your fun. I expect you'd catch it devilish hot!
FAKRASH.
[_Falling on his knees in sudden terror._] Repentance, O Progress! I will
not return to the like conduct ever! [_He rises trembling._] Willingly will
I depart from the world as it now is--for it hath ceased to be a
pleasure-garden and become a place of desolation and horror!
HORACE.
[_Calmly._] Quite so; and I can help you to return from it. _I'm_ not an
Efreet, and if _I_ undertake to bottle you up and drop you into a deep part
of our river here, you can depend on me to _do_ it.
FAKRASH.
Undertake this, and in return I will grant thee thy life.
HORACE.
[_Disguising his satisfaction._] Not good enough! You must offer better
terms than _that_! What have _you_ done to deserve any help from me?
FAKRASH.
Have I not loaded thee with kindnesses?
HORACE.
Kindnesses! Till I met you I was happy and hopeful--now, I'm miserable and
desperate!
FAKRASH.
Is not life itself a sufficient boon?
HORACE.
What? When you've parted me for ever from the girl I love! Life is no boon
to me _now_. If _you_ don't put an end to me I shall do it myself--by
jumping over that balcony and breaking my neck!... I've a good mind to do
it now.
[_He makes a sudden movement
towards the balcony as though to
carry out his threat._
FAKRASH.
[_Detaining him._] Hold! I entreat thee! Do not abandon me thus, and all
that I have done I will undo!
[_As he speaks he throws away the
scimitar, which, to HORACE'S
amazement, vanishes._
HORACE.
[_Going to the right with his back to the audience._] That's more like
_business_! But--_can_ you undo the mischief you've done?
FAKRASH.
With the greatest ease that can be! [_He stalks towards the window, extends
his right arm, and mutters some cryptic sentence, then turns complacently
to HORACE._] I have obliterated from the minds of thy betrothed and her
parents all memory of myself and the brass bottle, and of every incident
connected therewith.
HORACE.
By Jove! That's rather a neat way out--[_with sudden doubt_]--if you've
really _done_ all that!
FAKRASH.
May I be thy ransom if it be not accomplished!
HORACE.
Well,--I must take your word for it. But there's Mr. and Mrs.
Wackerbath,--can you make _them_ forget everything connected with
you--except that I'm to build them a house?
FAKRASH.
[_Going to the window and repeating the incantation, then returning to the
centre of the room._] All else hath utterly passed from their recollection.
HORACE.
Splendid! Do the thing well while you're about it--better throw in their
coachman--oh, and the couple you saw here just now,--the Rapkins.
FAKRASH.
[_Repeats the incantation, facing the door._] It is done. They remember
naught of that they have seen. And now ask no more of me, but perform thy
part and bring hither my bottle.
HORACE.
[_Going to door down on the right._] Right! I'll go and get it out of my
bedroom.
[_He goes out._
FAKRASH.
[_Pacing up and down in suspense and terror._] Haste! Haste! For until I am
in my bottle once more every instant is an eternity!
HORACE.
[_Returning with the bottle, which he sets down on the floor in front of
the mantelpiece._] Here's your bottle! Got the stopper?
FAKRASH.
[_After some fumbling in his robes, finds the metal cap and gives it to
HORACE._] It is here. Now swear to me by the beard of Progress that thou
wilt drop me into deep waters, even as thou hast promised!
HORACE.
I swear it--by the beard of Progress--on whom be peace!... You step in,
sir, and leave the rest to me.
FAKRASH.
[_As he raises his arms and moves towards the fireplace._] To escape into a
bottle is pleasant!
HORACE.
Delightful!
FAKRASH.
[_Who is now behind the bottle, with his arms extended in supplication and
his back to the audience._] Towbah yah nebbi ullah Anna lah amill Kathalik
ibadan! Wullah hi!
[_With the last words he disappears
through the neck of the bottle._
HORACE.
[_Standing by the bottle with the cap._] Tucked yourself in comfortably?
Say _when_.
[_There is a knock at the door
leading to landing._
FAKRASH'S VOICE.
[_From interior of bottle._] I am betrayed! The constables of Progress are
without! Let me forth that I may slay them and secure safety!
HORACE.
[_Promptly clapping on the cap and screwing it tightly._] You're safer
where you _are_, old cocky! Good-bye! [_Wipes his forehead._] Phew! Near
thing that! [_The knock is repeated._] All right! Wait a bit! I'm busy!
[_He takes the bottle into his
bedroom._
RAPKIN'S VOICE.
[_Outside door._] All right, sir! [_HORACE returns, goes to door at back,
and unlocks it; to RAPKIN, who is seen with a telegram._] What is it?
RAPKIN.
[_Entering._] Reply telegram, sir. [_Handing it to HORACE._] Boy's waiting.
HORACE.
[_Reading the telegram._] "Can you dine with wife and self, Savoy Hotel,
8.15 to-night? Quite small party. Could discuss plans new house. Ask for
'Pinafore' Room.--Wackerbath." Good! _Wackerbath's_ all right, anyhow! [_He
pulls a chair to the table and sits down to fill up the reply form. As he
does so his face suddenly clouds._] The _Savoy_, though! Pringle's dining
there to-night.... Good Lord! _I forgot all about Pringle!_ I wonder if
Fakrash has made _him_ forget? If he _didn't_, by George! there'll be a
pretty kettle of fish!
RAPKIN.
[_Thinking he is being addressed._] Beg pardon, sir?
HORACE.
Nothing--I wasn't speaking to _you_. [_Finishes writing the form and hands
it to RAPKIN._] Can you read it?
RAPKIN.
[_Reading._] "Delighted. Savoy, 8.15 to-night.--Ventimore." Excuse me, sir,
but _when_ is it you're expecting friends to dinner 'ere?
HORACE.
[_At a loss for the moment._] Er--_when_? I--I'm not sure. [_As he crosses
to his bedroom._] Oh, just tell Mrs. Rapkin I should like to see her.
[_He goes into bedroom._
RAPKIN.
[_Looking round, as MRS. RAPKIN enters from landing._] Mr. Ventimore was
just _asking_ for you, Marire.
MRS. RAPKIN.
[_Surprised._] Was he? I didn't know he'd come in.
[_She crosses to the bookcase,
places a newspaper on the shelf on
left of fireplace, then goes to the
windows and closes them._
RAPKIN.
Nor yet me--but he 'ave.
[_He goes out, leaving door open._
HORACE.
[_Coming from bedroom, carrying a bulky and apparently heavy kit-bag._] I
only wanted to tell you that I sha'n't be in to dinner to-night, Mrs.
Rapkin.
[_He sets the bag down on the
table._
MRS. RAPKIN.
Goin' out of town, sir?
HORACE.
No. Why? [_MRS. RAPKIN indicates the bag._] Oh, this kit-bag? I'm lending
it--to a friend of mine. Just going to see him off--[_taking up the bag
again and going to the door_]--for a long holiday. I shall come in to
dress. [_To himself._] Fool I was to forget Pringle!
[_As HORACE goes out the stage is
in darkness for an interval of a
minute or two, after which the
curtain rises on the last scene._
SCENE II
_The "Pinafore" private room at the
Savoy Hotel._
_At the back is a wide arch, beyond
which is a glazed balcony, with a
view over the tops of the
Embankment trees of the river and
the Surrey bank, with the Shot
Towers, &c., and the ends of
Waterloo Bridge on the extreme
left, and of Charing Cross Railway
Bridge on the extreme right._
_At the rising of the curtain this
view is seen in a warm sunset
glow._
_Above the arch there is a door on
the right, leading to the corridor
and restaurant; another on the
left, by which the waiters come in
and go out._
_Below the arch, down on the right,
is a fireplace; above the
fireplace, at right angles to it, a
couch, and behind the couch a long
flower-stand filled with flowers
and palms._
_Up the stage, centre, is a round
table, laid for six persons, and
elaborately decorated with pink
Gloire de France roses, under
rose-shaded lamp. Six chairs are
placed round it, and a seventh
chair is in the glazed balcony._
_Below the arch, on the left, is
another door, and down on left, at
a slight angle, a sofa, with
occasional tables and chairs.
Against the wall on left is a
glazed cabinet._
_The furniture and decorations are
copied from the original room in
the Savoy Hotel._
_As the curtain rises the SECOND
WAITER is placing the napkins
under the supervision of the FIRST
WAITER. _Waltz music is heard from
the restaurant on the right._
PRINGLE'S VOICE.
[_Outside door above arch, to unseen attendant._] "Entrance from the
Embankment as well," eh? Well, why didn't you _tell_ me that? My friends
have probably come in _that_ way while I was waiting at the _other_ end!
This is the "Pinafore" Room, isn't it? Very _well_, then--I expect I shall
find them in here. [_He enters, and looks round the room._] No. They don't
seem to have arrived yet.
FIRST WAITER.
[_By the table._] Not yet. They vill be here soon.
[_The SECOND WAITER goes out._
PRINGLE.
Eh? Well, I _hope_ so, I'm sure. They're behind their time as it is.
[_Inspecting table._] H'm! Not bad. But you needn't have had all those
roses--half a dozen would have been _quite_ sufficient. And--hang it all!
You've laid for _six_ people!
FIRST WAITER.
Pardon, m'sieu--we receive orders to lay for six person.
PRINGLE.
Nonsense! Your orders were to lay for _four_. A "petty party carry"--if you
know what _that_ means.
FIRST WAITER.
Parfaitement--but I think perhaps there is some mistake. This is the
"Pinafore" Room.
PRINGLE.
I know _that_--and the manager told me this morning on the telephone that
he's reserved the "Pinafore" Room for _me_. I'm only expecting _three_
guests, though; so just clear away those two extra places, and look sharp
about it.
[_The SECOND WAITER returns._
FIRST WAITER.
But excuse--the manager he say to me----
PRINGLE.
Confound you, do you suppose _I_ don't know how many people I've asked?
Have the table altered at once, or I shall send for the manager.
FIRST WAITER.
[_With a shrug._] Bien, m'sieu! You tell me there is a mistake--that is
enoff--I alter it.
[_He gives orders in an undertone
to the SECOND WAITER, who removes
two of the chairs to the balcony,
and takes off the corresponding
plates, glasses, &c._
PRINGLE.
[_As he comes down to the left._] I sha'n't _pay_ for more than four--mind
that! [_To himself, as he sits on the couch down left._] It's going to cost
me quite enough without that, _I_ can see! [_The Westminster Clock-tower is
heard striking the quarter; PRINGLE takes out his watch._] Eight-fifteen!
And I asked them for eight sharp. Very singular--the Professor's generally
so punctual! [_He rises eagerly as the door on right above arch opens._]
Ah, _here_ they are! [_HORACE enters and comes down; PRINGLE draws
himself up stiffly._] What, _you_, Ventimore! I scarcely expected to see
you here to-night.
[_The two WAITERS go out; the
waltz music stops._
HORACE.
[_Coming down to couch by fireplace._] Didn't you? I rather thought I might
run across _you_, somehow.
PRINGLE.
[_Austerely._] Considering that, when I _last_ saw you, you were flying
over the chimney-pots with an Oriental enchanter you had released from a
brass bottle----
HORACE.
[_Seating himself on sofa by fireplace._] Ah! So you _haven't_ forgotten!
PRINGLE.
It's hardly a thing one would be _likely_ to forget in a hurry. You were
being conducted to meet your bride, I think--are you beginning your
honeymoon in this hotel?
HORACE.
If you want to know, I'm here because I'm dining with the Wackerbaths.
PRINGLE.
What!--the client I met in your office this morning? Then he must have an
uncommonly short memory, that's all! But, whether you're dining with him or
not, that's no reason why you should have forced your way in _here_! I
suppose you're hoping that, if you can only see Miss Futvoye----
HORACE.
You're wrong, Pringle, quite wrong. I don't in the least expect to see Miss
Futvoye here to-night. And I very much doubt if _you_ will, either.
PRINGLE.
_Do_ you? You wouldn't if you'd heard her parting words to me this
afternoon. I said to her: "You won't forget?" Her answer was: "As if I
_could_--after all you've done for us!"
HORACE.
It--it's just possible that _all_ of them may have forgotten an engagement
which was made under--rather peculiar circumstances.
PRINGLE.
That's just why they're not likely to forget it. [_Going to fireplace, and
standing with his back to it._] They may be here at any moment!
HORACE.
They _may_--but, if I were you, I shouldn't count on them.
PRINGLE.
I _do_ count on them--and I consider your intrusion here in the worst
possible taste. I think you might have the decency to go!
HORACE.
[_Rising._] I tell you I'm here because this is the room which Wackerbath
asked me to come to.
PRINGLE.
It won't _do_, you know! If it was, he'd be here to receive you--which he
isn't.
[_As he speaks MR. WACKERBATH
bustles in from the door below the
arch on the left. HORACE goes
forward to meet him, PRINGLE
remaining by the fireplace in
wrathful astonishment._
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Shaking hands effusively with HORACE._] My _dear_ Mr. Ventimore, I really
don't know _how_ to 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. [_The FIRST and SECOND WAITERS enter 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's _this_? Only four places! I ordered dinner for _six_!
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't _talk_ about it--put it right at once. I want a chair in here--and
another here.
[_He remains by the table, while
the WAITERS replace chairs and
bring back plates, glasses, &c._
PRINGLE.
[_To HORACE._] Ventimore! [_HORACE crosses to fireplace._] Will you kindly
explain to your host that that's _my_ dinner-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,
as MR. WACKERBATH comes down to
HORACE._
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_To HORACE._] Those fellows seem to have mistaken their orders. Lucky I
noticed it in time! [_MRS. WACKERBATH enters from the door below arch._]
Ah, here _is_ my wife! Eliza, my dear--[_presenting HORACE_]--our friend,
Mr. Ventimore.
MRS. WACKERBATH.
[_To HORACE, cordially, but with a nervous, fluttered manner._] Oh, how
do you _do_? I _am_ so pleased to meet you! I've been hearing so _much_
about you from my husband. [_She goes to sofa on the left, and sits._] It
will be _so_ delightful to have a home at last that is _really_ fit to live
in!
[_PRINGLE, hearing this, makes a
contemptuous ejaculation to
himself._
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_To HORACE._] I ought to tell you this is quite an _impromptu_ little
affair. The wife only came up this morning 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 realising PRINGLE'S presence; to MR. 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, to MRS. WACKERBATH._] My _other_----? I was not aware----[_He
turns and sees PRINGLE, 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 my _own_ party.
MRS. WACKERBATH.
[_In some distress._] Oh, dear! I _am_ so sorry. I'm afraid _I'm_ to 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 first _I've_ heard of it, or
else----
MRS. WACKERBATH.
[_Rising._] I _quite_ thought it would be explained to you, and I do so
_hope_ the 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. They _won't_ come 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 to HORACE, who is completely staggered._]
There! Who's right _now_? I _knew_ they wouldn't forget!
[_He advances to the end of the
sofa by fireplace to receive the
FUTVOYES, while HORACE effaces
himself so far as possible in the
corner behind the flower-stand._
HORACE.
[_To himself in despair._] That old _fool_ of a Fakrash! He's muffed it
again!
[_The FUTVOYES enter; MRS.
FUTVOYE first, then SYLVIA, and
the PROFESSOR bringing up the
rear._
PRINGLE.
[_Cheerily, to MRS. FUTVOYE._] Aha!
[_His welcome dies away as they all
pass on without seeming to notice
any one but MR. and MRS.
WACKERBATH, who advance from the
left to receive them. PRINGLE
retreats slightly, and looks on in
speechless indignation._
MR. WACKERBATH.
My dear Mrs. Futvoye, delighted to see you--delighted! [_As MRS. FUTVOYE
greets MRS. WACKERBATH, to SYLVIA._] And this smart young woman is my
little god-daughter, eh? How d'ye do, my dear? [_To PROFESSOR._] And how is
our excellent Professor?
[_They converse in by-play; MRS.
WACKERBATH takes MRS. FUTVOYE to
sofa on left; SYLVIA goes up
towards arch to a place from which
she can see neither HORACE nor
PRINGLE._
MRS. WACKERBATH.
[_To MRS. 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 to MRS. FUTVOYE, as the PROFESSOR joins SYLVIA._] I want to
introduce a friend of ours--very rising young fellow----[_He looks round
for HORACE, and discovers him by the flower stand._] Ah, _there_ he
is--Mr. Ventimore. [_HORACE pulls himself together and comes forward, not
in the least knowing what reception to expect._] Mr. Ventimore, Mrs.
Anthony Futvoye.
[_HORACE bows in considerable
anxiety._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Why, my dear Mr. Wackerbath, we know one another quite well already! [_To
HORACE, laughing._] Don't we, Horace?
[_HORACE takes her hand with
obvious relief._
SYLVIA.
[_Coming down smiling, between MR. WACKERBATH and HORACE._] How are you,
Horace?
[_HORACE shakes hands warmly with
her._
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
[_Approaching as MR. WACKERBATH turns to his wife and MRS. FUTVOYE, to
HORACE not 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, we _couldn't_ remember 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!
[_PRINGLE has heard all this with a
contempt and disgust that are
indicated by his expression._
SYLVIA.
Then mother _was_ right! I'd fearful misgivings that it was for _last_
night, 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 even _that_.
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
Ah, now I think of it--[_interposing between SYLVIA and HORACE, and
drawing him apart, while SYLVIA goes up towards the table_]--did you find
time to attend that sale for me yesterday?
HORACE.
[_Blankly._] Oh, yes. I _attended_ it.
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
We called at your rooms yesterday afternoon, but you 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 to MR. WACKERBATH, who
is on his right. SYLVIA comes
down, and PRINGLE advances to
greet her, but, finding she
evidently sees no one but HORACE,
he goes up towards the balcony
fuming with rage._
SYLVIA.
[_To HORACE._] Come and sit down somewhere, and tell me everything you've
been doing.
[_HORACE takes her to the sofa by
the fireplace, where they sit down
and talk in dumb show, while
PRINGLE is now hanging about
undecidedly near the flower-stand,
waiting his opportunity for
addressing SYLVIA, and furiously
jealous at finding her still too
absorbed to notice him_; MRS.
FUTVOYE and MRS. WACKERBATH are
talking confidentially on the sofa
on the left side of the room, and
the PROFESSOR and MR. WACKERBATH
are 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 about _that_! Why, this house he's
building for _me_ will 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, _another_ palace,
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 on PRINGLE, and continuing to MR. WACKERBATH,
as they go up together towards the table, ignoring PRINGLE.] Wackerbath,
about this house of yours?--do I understand that Ventimore is----?
[_They talk in dumb show, and
during the next few speeches the
FIRST WAITER enters, and MR.
WACKERBATH gives him an order,
after which the WAITER goes out
and returns with two cocktails.
The PROFESSOR sits by the table
and MR. WACKERBATH stands as they
drink. PRINGLE meanwhile has
returned to the corner of the
flower-stand and is no longer able
to control his temper._
PRINGLE.
[_To SYLVIA, 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 of _my_ humble existence.
SYLVIA.
[_With slightly raised eyebrows, as she shakes hands._] Oh, how do you do,
Mr. Pringle? I didn't see you come in.
[_HORACE sits by in silence,
feeling powerless to stop PRINGLE
at present._
PRINGLE.
[_Unpleasantly._] No, you were so much engaged. [_In a tone of injury._]
And I must say I little expected when I last saw you at Cottesmore
Gardens--scarcely seven hours ago----!
SYLVIA.
[_Smiling, but surprised._] Seven _hours_! It is more like seven _weeks_!
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. _I_
meant since you had been to see _us_. And that's _ages_ ago!
PRINGLE.
[_Blankly._] Ages ago!
SYLVIA.
[_Carelessly._] Oh, you said you'd been away, or working hard, or
something, didn't you? _I_ forgive you. And so _you_ are dining with Mr.
and Mrs. Wackerbath, too?
PRINGLE.
[_Stiffly._] With Mr. and Mrs.----! Pardon me, but I am under the
impression that _I_ am to have the honour of entertaining you.
SYLVIA.
[_Rising; HORACE rising as she does._] Entertaining _us_! Why, what
_could_ have 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
which MRS. FUTVOYE is seated, and
talks to her in dumb show, MRS.
FUTVOYE appearing surprised by
what she hears. Meanwhile._
PRINGLE.
[_In a savage undertone to HORACE._] This is _your_ work! I see how it
is--you've made 'em _all_ knuckle 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 if _I_ do!
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_Who has risen, leaving SYLVIA to talk to MRS. WACKERBATH, now
advances to PRINGLE._] _What_ is this Sylvia tells me, Mr. Pringle? Surely
you haven't been expecting us to dine with _you_ to-night?
PRINGLE.
I not only _have_ been, I _am_, my dear lady.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
Then my husband must have----[_Turning to the PROFESSOR, who is by the
table talking to MR. WACKERBATH._] Anthony! [_The PROFESSOR comes down._]
Have you accepted an invitation from Mr. Pringle for to-night without
telling me? How _could_ you be so forgetful?
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
My memory has not begun to fail _yet_, Sophia. [_To PRINGLE._] My dear
Pringle, I can only say that I received no such invitation. We had _no_
engagement for this evening till Mrs. Wackerbath kindly rang my wife up
this afternoon.
[_He takes a chair on the left by
MRS. 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.
_Release_ us! 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. FUTVOYE rejoins SYLVIA,
while MR. WACKERBATH, who has
gradually drawn nearer, now comes
forward genially._
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_To PRINGLE._] 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 shall _all_ be happy.
PRINGLE.
Well, Mr. Wackerbath, if you think it will contribute to the general
gaiety, I--I don't mind if I _do_ join 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; the FIRST and SECOND
WAITERS come 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. WACKERBATH then
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.
[_As MR. WACKERBATH goes up to find the waiters, to her mother, in an
undertone._] Mother, what is the matter with Mr. Pringle? He seems
quite--quite _odd_.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
I can't make him out at all, my dear. He seems to be offended with us--and
for no reason that _I_ can see.
SYLVIA.
Nor I.
[_They continue the conversation in
dumb show, while the PROFESSOR,
on a chair, is talking to MRS.
WACKERBATH on the sofa on the
left._
PRINGLE.
[_In an undertone to HORACE, as they stand by the fireplace on the
right._] I suppose you know _why_ I'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 quiet
_here_!
PRINGLE.
[_Roughly._] I'm not afraid of you, or your Jinnee either--he rather _took_
to me! And if the Futvoyes choose to drop me like this, I'm not going to
take it lying down--I can make _them_ look 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 shut _my_ mouth!
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_The WAITERS having gone out, now comes down and addresses MRS.
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?
[_HORACE starts; PRINGLE prepares
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 the PROFESSOR can reply._] "Unpleasant"? Oh, _dear_
no! [_Coming forward to centre._] _Quite_ an ordinary occurrence! Ha-ha!
[_General surprise._
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_With annoyance._] I don't know why Mr. Pringle should choose to answer
for my husband. [_To MR. WACKERBATH._] We considered it _most_ unpleasant.
In fact, we can only be thankful it was no worse!
PRINGLE.
But _are_ you thankful? I haven't noticed any signs of it, _so_ far!
HORACE.
[_In his ear._] Shut up, can't you?
MRS. FUTVOYE.
_Really_, Mr. Pringle! [_To MR. WACKERBATH._] I was _about_ to 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 the PROFESSOR._] And have you any clue to
the--ah--culprit?
PRINGLE.
[_With a wild sardonic laugh._] Ho-ho! He's no _idea_ who the--ah--culprit
is. _Have_ you, Professor?
[_Renewed astonishment._
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
[_Glaring at PRINGLE._] I can only surmise. _My_ theory is that burglars
must have broken in during the night, and that the scoundrels, disgusted at
finding nothing of any value to _them_, revenged themselves by doing this
irreparable damage.
PRINGLE.
Bravo, Professor! Does you credit, that theory of yours! _Most_ ingenious!
_Must_ have been burglars, of course! With gout in all their four legs--eh,
Mrs. Futvoye?
[_MRS. FUTVOYE regards him with
puzzled displeasure._
HORACE.
[_In PRINGLE'S ear._] _Will_ you hold your confounded tongue!
MRS. WACKERBATH.
[_To the PROFESSOR._] The wretches! But what a mercy that you weren't
disturbed!
PRINGLE.
Oh, the Professor wasn't disturbed--not _he_! "Preserved perfect calm and
self-control from first to last"--_didn't_ you, Professor?
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
[_Acidly._] As I was sound asleep during the whole business, sir, I presume
I _did_.
PRINGLE.
Ha-ha! Sound asleep, eh? But you must have had a touch of nightmare when
_I_ saw you.
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
When you----! [_Rising and coming towards him._] How and when could _you_
possibly have seen me, Pringle?
PRINGLE.
Oh, in your study. When you were lashing out at everything--with your hind
legs.
[_General sensation; MRS.
WACKERBATH and MRS. FUTVOYE both
rise, and, with SYLVIA, come
somewhat nearer PRINGLE._
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 was _there_, remember. And lucky for
you I _was_--or you'd be a wall-eyed mule at this very moment.
[_Exasperated by the FUTVOYES' apparent astonishment._] Oh, it may suit
you to forget it _now_--but you were all three--especially Sylvia--grateful
enough to me _then_!
[_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! _Does_ he mean that
pleasant elderly landlady of yours?
PRINGLE.
As if you didn't _know_, 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! _What_ brass bottle? What _is_ he talking
about?
PRINGLE.
I'm talking about the bottle he bought for you at that auction yesterday,
Professor. You can surely remember _that_?
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
I certainly _did_ ask him to attend a sale. [_Approaching HORACE._] 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.
[_Regarding PRINGLE with dignified displeasure._] You seem to me, sir, to
be endeavouring to be--ah--facetious.
PRINGLE.
[_Turning on him._] No more facetious, Mr. Wackerbath, than _you_ were when
I saw you this morning in Ventimore's office.
MR. WACKERBATH.
I didn't _go_ to Mr. Ventimore's office. I entirely forgot the
appointment--an unusual thing for _me_.
PRINGLE.
Oh, no. You did an even _more_ unusual thing. You were _there_--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't seem 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 dining _already_.
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't_ pretend you've
forgotten those dancing-girls!
[_Everybody speechless with
indignation and surprise, except
the PROFESSOR, who comes towards
him with concern._
PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.
[_Soothingly, to PRINGLE._] There, there--you mustn't get excited about it.
[_He turns, and takes MR. WACKERBATH aside._] It's not what _you_ think.
Poor fellow! _His_ only excess is overwork. [_Turning to PRINGLE again._]
Now, now, Pringle, my dear fellow, you're not--not quite yourself, you
know--not quite _yourself_! 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'm _mad_,
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.
[_Approaching PRINGLE._] _Do_ go round the world, Mr. Pringle. You'll come
back cured of all these fancies!
PRINGLE.
[_Reeling back a step or two._] Fancies!... Ventimore! [_HORACE goes to
him, while the others form a group on the left and discuss PRINGLE'S case
with pitying concern._] I've been a fool--I see that now. They're not
pretending--they really _have_ forgotten!
HORACE.
Completely. Fakrash hasn't foozled _that_--for a wonder! I ought to have
included _you_; but--well, one can't think of _everything_--I forgot. I can
only say I'm sorry.
PRINGLE.
But they all think I'm mad! [_He sinks on the sofa by fireplace._] _You_
know I'm not _that_! [_With sudden doubt._] _Am_ I?
HORACE.
[_Patting him on the shoulder._] Not a bit, my dear fellow,--you're as sane
as I am.
PRINGLE.
[_With relief._] I _knew_ I was! But _tell_ 'em so--tell 'em it's all true!
HORACE.
I can't. They'd only think _I_ was mad, too.
PRINGLE.
[_In despair._] But you _must_ get 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 to PRINGLE_]--was it two or
_three_ back teeth you had out, Pringle?
PRINGLE.
[_Sullenly._] One. Only _one_.
HORACE.
[_To the others._] Only _one_. But under an anaesthetic. [_To PRINGLE, as
before._] Nitrous oxide, Pringle, or ether?
PRINGLE.
I can't say--I didn't inquire.
HORACE.
[_To the others._] Naturally--he _wouldn't_ inquire. But--well, _you_ know
what ef--I mean, anaesthetics _are_!
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." [_To PRINGLE._] You _did_
say "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, the _effects_--don't go off
altogether for hours after the operation. Mr. Pringle thinks he can't have
been thoroughly awake----
PRINGLE.
[_Rising._] But I am now--I am _now_!
HORACE.
Oh, he is _now_--quite serious and sensible, and generally himself again.
[_A general murmur of polite
satisfaction._
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Advancing towards PRINGLE._] I'm sure I'm very pleased to hear it, Mr.
Pringle! Especially as it permits us to hope that we may still have
the--ah--pleasure of your company.
[_The others echo this sentiment in
a somewhat half-hearted manner._
PRINGLE.
You're extremely kind--but I think perhaps I shall be better at home.
MRS. FUTVOYE.
[_In a motherly tone._] I'm _sure_ you will, dear Mr. Pringle. What _you_
ought to do is to go to bed and get a good night's sleep.
MR. WACKERBATH.
[_Obviously relieved._] Ah, well, I won't insist--I won't insist. Perhaps
you will give us some other evening?
PRINGLE.
[_With extreme stiffness._] I'm obliged to you--but I dine out very seldom.
Good-night. [_He crosses to MRS. FUTVOYE and shakes hands with her, and
bows to MR. and MRS. WACKERBATH, after which MR. WACKERBATH takes_
MRS. FUTVOYE up to the glazed balcony to see the river, which by this time
is in bright moonlight, the PROFESSOR, after having said good-night to
PRINGLE, following with MRS. WACKERBATH. PRINGLE then turns to SYLVIA,
who is standing on the extreme left._] Good-night, Miss Sylvia. May I
offer my congratulations? I can only hope that you may be as happy--as
happy as--as _possible_.
[_Faint waltz music is heard from
the restaurant._
SYLVIA.
[_Quietly._] Thanks so much, Mr. Pringle, I think I _shall_. [_Giving him
her hand._] Good-night.
[_She goes up and joins the group
in the glazed balcony._
PRINGLE.
Good-night. [_He turns to HORACE._] One moment, Ventimore!
HORACE.
Oh, I'm coming to the door with you, old fellow.
[_He is about to go up with him,
when PRINGLE detains him._
PRINGLE.
I only wanted to ask you this. [_Lowering his voice._] Where _is_ that
Jinnee of yours now?
HORACE.
[_Standing by the sofa by fireplace._] Well,--do you see that patch of
silver on the water just above the bridge--[_pointing to the left_]--where
they're all looking?
PRINGLE.
Yes, I see that. What _about_ it?
HORACE.
Only that, somewhere under that patch, old Fakrash is lying, snugly curled
up inside his bottle.
PRINGLE.
[_Incredulously._] What!
HORACE.
I happen to know, because I dropped it there myself this afternoon inside a
kit-bag.
PRINGLE.
Well, I must say I'm glad you've got rid of him. And--er--you can rely on
me to keep quiet about it for the future.
HORACE.
[_Drily._] My dear chap, I feel _sure_ I can.
PRINGLE.
[_Going up to the door on right above the arch._] Good-night.
[_Disconsolately._] I shall go and get something to eat at an "A.B.C."
HORACE.
[_Going up with him._] Good-night, old fellow. It's rough on you, but I did
my _best_!
PRINGLE.
[_Turning on him with resentment._] You needn't have told 'em I'd had
_three_ teeth out! Good-night.
[_He goes out, HORACE closing the
door after him. Waltz music from
restaurant on right. After he has
gone, MR. WACKERBATH and the
others turn from the river as the
SECOND WAITER enters and places a
slice of melon on each plate._
MR. WACKERBATH.
Oh, ready, eh? [_The FIRST WAITER enters and intimates that dinner is
served._] Then shall we sit down, Mrs. Futvoye? [_He goes to the chair at
the top of the table with his back to the balcony, and places MRS. FUTVOYE
on his right._] Professor--[_as MRS. WACKERBATH takes the chair at the
bottom of the table, facing the river_]--on my wife's left, please. Sylvia,
my dear, next to me. [_SYLVIA takes the chair on MR. WACKERBATH'S left;
HORACE still standing._] And you, Mr. Ventimore----[_Observing that there
are two places._] Stay, there's _something_ wrong. Oh, of course! [_To
the FIRST WAITER._] Take away that chair, it won't be wanted now--the other
gentleman has gone.
FIRST WAITER.
Gone! De gentleman vat give so moch trouble? He vill not come back?
MR. WACKERBATH.
Come back? [_To HORACE._] You don't think your friend is likely to do
_that_, eh, Mr. Ventimore?
SYLVIA.
Oh, I _hope_ not!
[_The others assent fervently._
HORACE.
[_Pausing in the act of taking the sixth chair._] It's all right. My
friend--[_with a glance at the bridge on the left_]--the gentleman who gave
so much trouble, is--[_with a slow smile of deep satisfaction_]--not in the
least likely to come back!
[_He sits down by SYLVIA as
another and a louder burst of waltz
music is heard from the restaurant
and the curtain falls._
THE END.
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