Chapter III: Act IV: Scene I. Ventimore's Rooms (3)

[_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.