Chapter IV: Act IV: Scene I. Ventimore's Rooms (4)

[_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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