[_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?