"That will be all ri', Mr. Ventimore," said Rapkin, who was not far gone enough to be beyond understanding or obeying. "You leave it entirely to me. I'll unnertake that your friends shall be made comforrable, perfelly comforrable. I've lived as butler in the besht, the mosht ecxlu--most arishto--you know the sort o' fam'lies I'm tryin' to r'member--and--and everything was always all ri', and _I_ shall be all ri' in a few minutes." With this assurance he stumbled downstairs, leaving Horace relieved to some extent. Rapkin would be sober enough after his head had been under the tap for a few minutes, and in any case there would be the hired waiter to rely upon. If he could only find out where his evening clothes were! He returned to his room and made another frantic search--but they were nowhere to be found; and as he could not bring himself to receive his guests in his ordinary morning costume--which the Professor would probably construe as a deliberate slight, and which would certainly seem a solecism in Mrs. Futvoye's eyes, if not in her daughter's--he decided to put on the Eastern robes, with the exception of a turban, which he could not manage to wind round his head. Thus arrayed he re-entered the domed hall, where he was annoyed to find that no attempt had been made as yet to prepare a dinner-table, and he was just looking forlornly round for a bell when Rapkin appeared. He had apparently followed Horace's advice, for his hair looked wet and sleek, and he was comparatively sober. "This is too bad!" cried Horace; "my friends may be here at any moment now--and nothing done. You don't propose to wait at table like that, do you?" he added, as he noted the man's overcoat and the comforter round his throat. "I do not propose to wait in any garments whatsoever," said Rapkin; "I'm a-goin' out, I am." "Very well," said Horace; "then send the waiter up--I suppose he's come?" "He come--but he went away again--I told him as he wouldn't be required." "You told him that!" Horace said angrily, and then controlled himself. "Come, Rapkin, be reasonable. You can't really mean to leave your wife to cook the dinner, and serve it too!" "She ain't intending to do neither; she've left the house already." "You must fetch her back," cried Horace. "Good heavens, man, _can't_ you see what a fix you're leaving me in? My friends have started long ago--it's too late to wire to them, or make any other arrangements." There was a knock, as he spoke, at the front door; and odd enough was the familiar sound of the cast-iron knocker in that Arabian hall. "There they are!" he said, and the idea of meeting them at the door and proposing an instant adjournment to a restaurant occurred to him--till he suddenly recollected that he would have to change and try to find some money, even for that. "For the last time, Rapkin," he cried in despair, "do you mean to tell me there's no dinner ready?"