The Brass Bottle: A Farcical Fantastic Play in Four Acts

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 anæsthetic. [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, anæsthetics are!

All (except Pringle)