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.