"Not at all funny!" said Horace; "they--they're an enterprising firm--their way of advertising." One after another, a train of dusky attendants entered, each of whom deposited his load on the floor with a guttural grunt and returned backward, until the sitting-room was blocked with piles of sacks, and bales, and chests, whereupon the head driver appeared and intimated that the tale of gifts was complete. "I wonder what sort of tip this fellow expects," thought Horace; "a sovereign seems shabby--but it's all I can run to. I'll try him with that." But the overseer repudiated all idea of a gratuity with stately dignity, and as Horace saw him to the gate, he found a stolid constable by the railings. "This won't _do_, you know," said the constable; "these 'ere camels must move on--or I shall 'ave to interfere." "It's all right, constable," said Horace, pressing into his hand the sovereign the head driver had rejected; "they're going to move on now. They've brought me a few presents from--from a friend of mine in the East." By this time the attendants had mounted the kneeling camels, which rose with them, and swung off round the square in a long, swaying trot that soon left the crowd far behind, staring blankly after the caravan as camel after camel disappeared into the haze. "I shouldn't mind knowin' that friend o' yours, sir," said the constable; "open-hearted sort o' gentleman, I should think?" "Very!" said Horace, savagely, and returned to his room, which Mrs. Rapkin had now left. His hands shook, though not with joy, as he untied some of the sacks and bales and forced open the outlandish-looking chests, the contents of which almost took away his breath. For in the bales were carpets and tissues which he saw at a glance must be of fabulous antiquity and beyond all price; the sacks held golden ewers and vessels of strange workmanship and pantomimic proportions; the chests were full of jewels--ropes of creamy-pink pearls as large as average onions, strings of uncut rubies and emeralds, the smallest of which would have been a tight fit in an ordinary collar-box, and diamonds, roughly facetted and polished, each the size of a coconut, in whose hearts quivered a liquid and prismatic radiance. On the most moderate computation, the total value of these gifts could hardly be less than several hundred millions; never probably in the world's history had any treasury contained so rich a store. It would have been difficult for anybody, on suddenly finding himself the possessor of this immense incalculable wealth, to make any comment quite worthy of the situation, but, surely, none could have been more inadequate and indeed inappropriate than Horace's--which, heartfelt as it was, was couched in the simple monosyllable--"Damn!" CHAPTER VII "GRATITUDE--A LIVELY SENSE OF FAVOURS TO COME"