The Brass Bottle: A Farcical Fantastic Play in Four Acts. Anstey F.

makes an exclamation of angry disgust.] Well, it was being passed round for us to look at – and nobody seemed to think much of it. But it struck me, somehow, it might be a dark horse, so I made a bid – and got it for only a sovereign!

Professor Futvoye

      Pah!

Sylvia

      But you haven't told us yet what it is.

Horace

      Haven't I? Oh, well, it's a sort of metal jar. Brass, the auctioneer said it was.

Professor Futvoye

      Tchah! Some modern bazaar trash!

Horace

      It doesn't look modern. I left it downstairs to be cleaned. [Going to door right of fireplace.] I'll go and bring it up.

[He goes out.Professor Futvoye

      [Furious.] I've no patience with the fellow! Squandering his sovereigns like this on worthless rubbish!

Mrs. Futvoye

      Don't be so fractious, Anthony! For all you can tell, he may have picked up a treasure.

Professor Futvoye

      [Grimly.] He may, Sophia. On the other hand, he may not. Which, on the whole, is rather more probable.

[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

      [As he opens the door for Mrs. Futvoye.] I've tried to remember your tastes, Professor.

Professor Futvoye

      I hope you have succeeded. Good-bye, Pringle. Very glad to have run across you again. Let us see more of you in future.

Pringle

      [Going to the door with him.] You shall, Professor, you shall. [Following Professor and Mrs. Futvoye out to landing.] By the way, are you likely to be in next – ?

[Horace closes door, leaving Sylvia still looking at the bottle.Sylvia

      [Turning as he comes down to her.] I'm certain there must be something inside that jar. And if it's anything really interesting, father will be so frightfully pleased that he won't be disagreeable all the evening!

Horace

      [Ruefully.] Ah, I'm afraid that's too much to look forward to.

Sylvia

      [Touching his arm with a little gesture of sympathy.] You poor dear! You're not beginning to be nervous about your dinner, are you?

Horace

      N – no. Not nervous exactly. Something might go wrong. Still, I hope there won't be much your father can find fault with.

Sylvia

      I'm sure there won't! And if he does, why, we won't mind, will we? We shall be together, you know!

Horace

      [Putting his arm round her.] That's what I've been thinking of all day!

[He kisses her as Pringle returns, unseen by them. His jaw drops as he sees them together.Pringle

      Coming forward.] Er – [Horace and Sylvia separate.] Miss Sylvia – the Professor asked me to tell you —

Sylvia

      I was just coming. [Taking her parasol and moving to door, which Pringle has left open.] Good-bye, Mr. Pringle. [Stopping Horace and Pringle as they are about to see her down the stairs.] No, you mustn't come down, either of you. [To Horace, with an affectation of distance.] Good-bye – Mr. Ventimore.

[She goes out.Pringle

      [By the table.] I should like to ask you, Ventimore, have you known Miss Futvoye long?

Horace

      [Still at door, looking after Sylvia.] A little over six weeks.

Pringle

      And I have known her for as many years!

Horace

      [Closing door, and coming towards him.] Have you, though? I noticed the Professor was uncommonly cordial to you. Look here, are you doing anything this evening?

Pringle

      Er – no. That is, nothing particular. Why?

Horace

      Because it would be friendly of you if you'd come and dine here. They're coming, you know.

Pringle

      I know. [After a moment's hesitation.] Thanks, I don't mind if I do.

Horace

      Capital! I'm sure if any one can keep the old man in a good humour, you can.

Pringle

      [Sourly.] I see. You want me to engage him in conversation and leave you free to carry on your flirtation with Miss Futvoye unobserved?

Horace

      Not quite that. There's nothing underhand about it. We're engaged, you know.

Pringle

      Engaged! [After a pause.] And how long