[_He retires up to the fireplace as HORACE returns, carrying a large metal bottle with a long neck and bulbous body, encrusted with a thick greenish-white deposit. PRINGLE closes the door for him after he has entered._ HORACE. [_Bringing the bottle down to right of table._] Here it is! [_The others--except the PROFESSOR, who remains aloof--gather round and examine it in dubious silence._] It's not much to _look_ at. PRINGLE. Very dusty! [_Wipes his hand after touching the bottle._] And you gave a _sovereign_ for this, Ventimore, eh? H'm! Dear me! SYLVIA. It may look better when it's had a good scrubbing. MRS. FUTVOYE. Scrubbing, my dear! It will have to be _scraped_ first! HORACE. Yes--looks as if it had been dragged up from the bottom of the sea, doesn't it? I've an idea it may be worth something. I should like to have _your_ opinion, Professor. [_He smiles uneasily._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_After a glance at it._] My opinion is that you might just as well have flung your sovereign into the gutter! HORACE. I admit it was speculative--but it _may_ turn out a winner. It's rather odd it should be so tightly sealed up. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_With more interest._] Sealed up, is it? [_Coming down and looking at it more carefully._] H'm--the _form_ is certainly antique. It's wonderful what they can do in Birmingham! HORACE. I really think it may have something inside it. It's not so very heavy, and yet--[_tapping it_]--it doesn't sound quite as if it were empty. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. It _might_ contain something. I think it most unlikely--but still, it _might_. SYLVIA. [_Laughing._] You don't mean it might be like that jar the Fisherman found in "The Arabian Nights," with a Genius inside it? PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. I did _not_ mean anything so frivolous, my dear. And, if you _must_ quote "The Arabian Nights," it's as well to remember in future that the more correct term is not "Genius," but "Jinnee." Singular, Jinnee--plural, Jinn. SYLVIA. I'll remember, dear. Singular, Jinn--plural, Jinnies. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Instructively._] A name applied by Arab mythology to a race of aerial beings, created of the flame of fire, but capable of assuming human form and exercising supernatural powers. SYLVIA. Oh, do let's open it now and see what _is_ inside! PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. Don't be childish, Sylvia, don't be childish! We've no time now for idle curiosity. If we're to dress and be back here by eight o'clock, we ought to start at once. [_MRS. FUTVOYE prepares to go and moves towards door._] Good-bye, then, Ventimore, for the present. [_He gets his hat and stick._] It is not to be an _elaborate_ entertainment, I trust? A simple ordinary little dinner is all _I_ require. HORACE.