The Brass Bottle

by F. Anstey

  CHAPTER V

  CARTE BLANCHE

  When Ventimore woke next morning his headache had gone, and with it therecollection of everything but the wondrous and delightful fact thatSylvia loved him and had promised to be his some day. Her mother, too,was on his side; why should he despair of anything after that? There wasthe Professor, to be sure--but even he might be brought to consent to anengagement, especially if it turned out that the brass bottle ... andhere Horace began to recall an extraordinary dream in connection withthat extremely speculative purchase of his. He had dreamed that he hadforced the bottle open, and that it proved to contain, not manuscripts,but an elderly Jinnee who alleged that he had been imprisoned there bythe order of King Solomon!

  What, he wondered, could have put so grotesque a fancy into his head?and then he smiled as he traced it to Sylvia's playful suggestion thatthe bottle might contain a "genie," as did the famous jar in the"Arabian Nights," and to her father's pedantic correction of the word to"Jinnee." Upon that slight foundation his sleeping brain had built upall that elaborate fabric--a scene so vivid and a story socircumstantial and plausible that, in spite of its extravagance, hecould hardly even now persuade himself that it was entirely imaginary.The psychology of dreams is a subject which has a fascinating mystery,even for the least serious student.

  As he entered the sitting-room, where his breakfast awaited him, helooked round, half expecting to find the bottle lying with its lid offin the corner, as he had last seen it in his dream.

  Of course, it was not there, and he felt an odd relief. Theauction-room people had not delivered it yet, and so much the better,for he had still to ascertain if it had anything inside it; and who knewthat it might not contain something more to his advantage than amaundering old Jinnee with a grievance several thousands of years old?

  Breakfast over, he rang for his landlady, who presently appeared. Mrs.Rapkin was a superior type of her much-abused class. She wasscrupulously clean and neat in her person; her sandy hair was so smoothand tightly knotted that it gave her head the colour and shape of aBarcelona nut; she had sharp, beady eyes, nostrils that seemed to smellbattle afar off, a wide, thin mouth that apparently closed with a snap,and a dry, whity-brown complexion suggestive of bran.

  But if somewhat grim of aspect, she was a good soul and devoted toHorace, in whom she took almost a maternal interest, while regrettingthat he was not what she called "serious-minded enough" to get on in theworld. Rapkin had wooed and married her when they were both in service,and he still took occasional jobs as an outdoor butler, though Horacesuspected that his more staple form of industry was the consumption ofgin-and-water and remarkably full-flavoured cigars in the basementparlour.

  "Shall you be dining in this evening, sir?" inquired Mrs. Rapkin.

  "I don't know. Don't get anything in for me; I shall most probably dineat the club," said Horace; and Mrs. Rapkin, who had a confirmed beliefthat all clubs were hotbeds of vice and extravagance, sniffeddisapproval. "By the way," he added, "if a kind of brass pot is senthere, it's all right. I bought it at a sale yesterday. Be careful howyou handle it--it's rather old."

  "There _was_ a vawse come late last night, sir; I don't know if it'sthat, it's old-fashioned enough."

  "Then will you bring it up at once, please? I want to see it."

  Mrs. Rapkin retired, to reappear presently with the brass bottle. "Ithought you'd have noticed it when you come in last night, sir," sheexplained, "for I stood it in the corner, and when I see it this morningit was layin' o' one side and looking that dirty and disrespectable Itook it down to give it a good clean, which it wanted it."

  It certainly looked rather the better for it, and the marks or scratcheson the cap were more distinguishable, but Horace was somewhatdisconcerted to find that part of his dream was true--the bottle hadbeen there.

  "I hope I've done nothing wrong," said Mrs. Rapkin, observing hisexpression; "I only used a little warm ale to it, which is a capitalthing for brass-work, and gave it a scrub with 'Vitrolia' soap--but itwould take more than that to get all the muck off of it."

  "It is all right, so long as you didn't try to get the top off," saidHorace.

  "Why, the top _was_ off it, sir. I thought you'd done it with the 'ammerand chisel when you got 'ome," said his landlady, staring. "I found them'ere on the carpet."

  Horace started. Then _that_ part was true, too! "Oh, ah," he said, "Ibelieve I did. I'd forgotten. That reminds me. Haven't you let the roomabove to--to an Oriental gentleman--a native, you know--wears a greenturban?"

  "That I most certainly 'ave _not_, Mr. Ventimore," said Mrs. Rapkin,with emphasis, "nor wouldn't. Not if his turbin was all the colours ofthe rainbow--for I don't 'old with such. Why, there was Rapkin's ownsister-in-law let her parlour floor to a Horiental--a Parsee _he_ was,or _one_ o' them Hafrican tribes--and reason she 'ad to repent of it,for all his gold spectacles! Whatever made you fancy I should let to ablackamoor?"

  "Oh, I thought I saw somebody about--er--answering that description,and I wondered if----"

  "Never in _this_ 'ouse, sir. Mrs. Steggars, next door but one, might letto such, for all I can say to the contrary, not being what you mightcall particular, and her rooms more suitable to savage notions--but I'veenough on _my_ hands, Mr. Ventimore, attending to you--not keeping agirl to do the waiting, as why should I while I'm well able to do itbetter myself?"

  As soon as she relieved him of her presence, he examined the bottle:there was nothing whatever inside it, which disposed of all the hopes hehad entertained from that quarter.

  It was not difficult to account for the visionary Oriental as anhallucination probably inspired by the heavy fumes (for he now believedin the fumes) which had doubtless resulted from the rapid decompositionof some long-buried spices or similar substances suddenly exposed to theair.

  If any further explanation were needed, the accidental blow to the backof his head, together with the latent suggestion from the "ArabianNights," would amply provide it.

  So, having settled these points to his entire satisfaction, he went tohis office in Great Cloister Street, which he now had entirely tohimself, and was soon engaged in drafting the specification for Beevoron which he had been working when so fortunately interrupted the daybefore by the Professor.

  The work was more or less mechanical, and could bring him no credit andlittle thanks, but Horace had the happy faculty of doing thoroughlywhatever he undertook, and as he sat there by his wide-open window hesoon became entirely oblivious of all but the task before him.

  So much so that, even when the light became obscured for a moment, as ifby some large and opaque body in passing, he did not look upimmediately, and, when he did, was surprised to find the only armchairoccupied by a portly person, who seemed to be trying to recover hisbreath.

  "I beg your pardon," said Ventimore; "I never heard you come in."

  His visitor could only wave his head in courteous deprecation, underwhich there seemed a suspicion of bewildered embarrassment. He was arosy-gilled, spotlessly clean, elderly gentleman, with white whiskers;his eyes, just then slightly protuberant, were shrewd, but genial; hehad a wide, jolly mouth and a double chin. He was dressed like a man whois above disguising his prosperity; he wore a large, pear-shaped pearlin his crimson scarf, and had probably only lately discarded his summerwhite hat and white waistcoat.

  "My dear sir," he began, in a rich, throaty voice, as soon as he couldspeak; "my dear sir, you must think this is a most unceremonious wayof--ah!--dropping in on you--of invading your privacy."

  "Not at all," said Horace, wondering whether he could possibly intendhim to understand that he had come in by the window. "I'm afraid therewas no one to show you in--my clerk is away just now."

  "No matter, sir, no matter. I found my way up, as you perceive. Theimportant, I may say the essential, fact is that I _am_ here."

  "Quite so," said Horace, "and may I ask what brought you?"

  "What brought----" The stranger's eyes grew fish-like for the moment."Allow me, I--I
shall come to that--in good time. I am still alittle--as you can see." He glanced round the room. "You are, I think,an architect, Mr. ah--Mr. um----?"

  "Ventimore is my name," said Horace, "and I _am_ an architect."

  "Ventimore, to be sure!" he put his hand in his pocket and produced acard: "Yes, it's all quite correct: I see I have the name here. And anarchitect, Mr. Ventimore, so I--I am given to understand, of immenseability."

  "I'm afraid I can't claim to be that," said Horace, "but I may callmyself fairly competent."

  "Competent? Why, of _course_ you're competent. Do you suppose, sir, thatI, a practical business man, should come to any one who was _not_competent?" he said, with exactly the air of a man trying to convincehimself--against his own judgment--that he was acting with the utmostprudence.

  "Am I to understand that some one has been good enough to recommend meto you?" inquired Horace.

  "Certainly not, sir, certainly not. _I_ need no recommendation but myown judgment. I--ah--have a tolerable acquaintance with all that isgoing on in the art world, and I have come to the conclusion,Mr.--eh--ah--Ventimore, I repeat, the deliberate and unassistedconclusion, that you are the one man living who can do what I want."

  "Delighted to hear it," said Horace, genuinely gratified. "When did yousee any of my designs?"

  "Never mind, sir. I don't decide without very good grounds. Itdoesn't take me long to make up my mind, and when my mind is madeup, I act, sir, I act. And, to come to the point, I have a smallcommission--unworthy, I am quite aware, of your--ah--distinguishedtalent--which I should like to put in your hands."

  "Is _he_ going to ask me to attend a sale for him?" thought Horace. "I'mhanged if I do."

  "I'm rather busy at present," he said dubiously, "as you may see. I'mnot sure whether----"

  "I'll put the matter in a nutshell, sir--in a nutshell. My name isWackerbath, Samuel Wackerbath--tolerably well known, if I may say so, inCity circles." Horace, of course, concealed the fact that his visitor'sname and fame were unfamiliar to him. "I've lately bought a few acres onthe Hampshire border, near the house I'm living in just now; and I'vebeen thinking--as I was saying to a friend only just now, as we werecrossing Westminster Bridge--I've been thinking of building myself alittle place there, just a humble, unpretentious home, where I could rundown for the weekend and entertain a friend or two in a quiet way, andperhaps live some part of the year. Hitherto I've rented places as Iwanted 'em--old family seats and ancestral mansions and so forth: verynice in their way, but I want to feel under a roof of my own. I want tosurround myself with the simple comforts, the--ah--unassuming eleganceof an English country home. And you're the man--I feel more convinced ofit with every word you say--you're the man to do the job instyle--ah--to execute the work as it should be done."

  Here was the long-wished-for client at last! And it was satisfactory tofeel that he had arrived in the most ordinary and commonplace course,for no one could look at Mr. Samuel Wackerbath and believe for a momentthat he was capable of floating through an upper window; he was not inthe least that kind of person.

  "I shall be happy to do my best," said Horace, with a calmness thatsurprised himself. "Could you give me some idea of the amount you areprepared to spend?"

  "Well, I'm no Croesus--though I won't say I'm a pauper precisely--and,as I remarked before, I prefer comfort to splendour. I don't think Ishould be justified in going beyond--well, say sixty thousand."

  "Sixty thousand!" exclaimed Horace, who had expected about a tenth ofthat sum. "Oh, not _more_ than sixty thousand? I see."

  "I mean, on the house itself," explained Mr. Wackerbath; "there will beoutbuildings, lodges, cottages, and so forth, and then some of the roomsI should want specially decorated. Altogether, before we are finished,it may work out at about a hundred thousand. I take it that, with such amargin, you could--ah--run me up something that in a modest way wouldtake the shine out of--I mean to say eclipse--anything in the adjoiningcounties?"

  "I certainly think," said Horace, "that for such a sum as that I canundertake that you shall have a home which will satisfy you." And heproceeded to put the usual questions as to site, soil, availablebuilding materials, the accommodation that would be required, and so on.

  "You're young, sir," said Mr. Wackerbath, at the end of the interview,"but I perceive you are up to all the tricks of the--I _should_ say,versed in the _minutiae_ of your profession. You would like to run downand look at the ground, eh? Well, that's only reasonable; and my wifeand daughters will want to have _their_ say in the matter--no getting onwithout pleasing the ladies, hey? Now, let me see. To-morrow's Sunday.Why not come down by the 8.45 a.m. to Lipsfield? I'll have a trap, or abrougham and pair, or something, waiting for you--take you over theground myself, bring you back to lunch with us at Oriel Court, and talkthe whole thing thoroughly over. Then we'll send you up to town in theevening, and you can start work the first thing on Monday. That suityou? Very well, then. We'll expect you to-morrow."

  With this Mr. Wackerbath departed, leaving Horace, as may be imagined,absolutely overwhelmed by the suddenness and completeness of his goodfortune. He was no longer one of the unemployed: he had work to do, and,better still, work that would interest him, give him all the scope andopportunity he could wish for. With a client who seemed tractable, andto whom money was clearly no object, he might carry out some of his mostambitious ideas.

  Moreover, he would now be in a position to speak to Sylvia's fatherwithout fear of a repulse. His commission on L60,000 would be L3,000,and that on the decorations and other work at least as muchagain--probably more. In a year he could marry without imprudence; intwo or three years he might be making a handsome income, for he feltconfident that, with such a start, he would soon have as much work as hecould undertake.

  He was ashamed of himself for ever having lost heart. What were the lastfew years of weary waiting but probation and preparation for thissplendid chance, which had come just when he really needed it, and inthe most simple and natural manner?

  He loyally completed the work he had promised to do for Beevor, whowould have to dispense with his assistance in future, and then he felttoo excited and restless to stay in the office, and, after lunching athis club as usual, he promised himself the pleasure of going toCottesmore Gardens and telling Sylvia his good news.

  It was still early, and he walked the whole way, as some vent for hishigh spirits, enjoying everything with a new zest--the dappled grey andsalmon sky before him, the amber, russet, and yellow of the scantyfoliage in Kensington Gardens, the pungent scent of fallen chestnuts andacorns and burning leaves, the blue-grey mist stealing between thedistant tree-trunks, and then the cheery bustle and brilliancy of theHigh Street. Finally came the joy of finding Sylvia all alone, andwitnessing her frank delight at what he had come to tell her, of feelingher hands on his shoulders, and holding her in his arms, as their lipsmet for the first time. If on that Saturday afternoon there was ahappier man than Horace Ventimore, he would have done well to dissemblehis felicity, for fear of incurring the jealousy of the high gods.

  When Mrs. Futvoye returned, as she did only too soon, to find herdaughter and Horace seated on the same sofa, she did not pretend to begratified. "This is taking a most unfair advantage of what I was weakenough to say last night, Mr. Ventimore," she began. "I thought I couldhave trusted you!"

  "I shouldn't have come so soon," he said, "if my position were what itwas only yesterday. But it's changed since then, and I venture to hopethat even the Professor won't object now to our being regularlyengaged." And he told her of the sudden alteration in his prospects.

  "Well," said Mrs. Futvoye, "you had better speak to my husband aboutit."

  The Professor came in shortly afterwards, and Horace immediatelyrequested a few minutes' conversation with him in the study, which wasreadily granted.

  The study to which the Professor led the way was built out at the backof the house, and crowded with Oriental curios of every age and kind;the furniture had been made by Cairene cabinet-makers, an
d along thecornices of the book-cases were texts from the Koran, while every chairbore the Arabic for "Welcome" in a gilded firework on its leather back;the lamp was a perforated mosque lantern with long pendent glass tubeslike hyacinth glasses; a mummy-case smiled from a corner with laboured_bonhomie_.

  "Well," began the Professor, as soon as they were seated, "so I was notmistaken--there was something in the brass bottle after all, then? Let'shave a look at it, whatever it is."

  For the moment Horace had almost forgotten the bottle. "Oh!" he said,"I--I got it open; but there was nothing in it."

  "Just as I anticipated, sir," said the Professor. "I told you therecouldn't be anything in a bottle of that description; it was simplythrowing money away to buy it."

  "I dare say it was, but I wished to speak to you on a much moreimportant matter;" and Horace briefly explained his object.

  "Dear me," said the Professor, rubbing up his hair irritably, "dear me!I'd no idea of this--no idea at all. I was under the impression that youvolunteered to act as escort to my wife and daughter at St. Luc purelyout of good nature to relieve me from what--to a man of my habits inthat extreme heat--would have been an arduous and distasteful duty."

  "I was not wholly unselfish, I admit," said Horace. "I fell in love withyour daughter, sir, the first day I met her--only I felt I had no right,as a poor man with no prospects, to speak to her or you at that time."

  "A very creditable feeling--but I've yet to learn why you should haveovercome it."

  So, for the third time, Ventimore told the story of the sudden turn inhis fortunes.

  "I know this Mr. Samuel Wackerbath by name," said the Professor; "one ofthe chief partners in the firm of Akers and Coverdale, the great estateagents--a most influential man, if you can only succeed in satisfyinghim."

  "Oh, I don't feel any misgivings about that, sir," said Horace. "I meanto build him a house that will be beyond his wildest expectations, andyou see that in a year I shall have earned several thousands, and I neednot say that I will make any settlement you think proper when Imarry----"

  "When you are in possession of those thousands," remarked the Professor,dryly, "it will be time enough to talk of marrying and makingsettlements. Meanwhile, if you and Sylvia choose to consider yourselvesengaged, I won't object--only I must insist on having your promise thatyou won't persuade her to marry you without her mother's and myconsent."

  Ventimore gave this undertaking willingly enough, and they returned tothe drawing-room. Mrs. Futvoye could hardly avoid asking Horace, in hisnew character of _fiance_, to stay and dine, which it need not be saidhe was only too delighted to do.

  "There is one thing, my dear--er--Horace," said the Professor, solemnly,after dinner, when the neat parlourmaid had left them at dessert, "onething on which I think it my duty to caution you. If you are to justifythe confidence we have shown in sanctioning your engagement to Sylvia,you must curb this propensity of yours to needless extravagance."

  "Papa!" cried Sylvia. "What _could_ have made you think Horaceextravagant?"

  "Really," said Horace, "I shouldn't have called myself particularly so."

  "Nobody ever _does_ call himself particularly extravagant," retorted theProfessor; "but I observed at St. Luc that you habitually gave fiftycentimes as a _pourboire_ when twopence, or even a penny, would havebeen handsome. And no one with any regard for the value of money wouldhave given a guinea for a worthless brass vessel on the bare chance thatit might contain manuscripts, which (as any one could have foreseen) itdid not."

  "But it's not a bad sort of bottle, sir," pleaded Horace. "If youremember, you said yourself the shape was unusual. Why shouldn't it beworth all the money, and more?"

  "To a collector, perhaps," said the Professor, with his wontedamiability, "which you are not. No, I can only call it a senseless andreprehensible waste of money."

  "Well, the truth is," said Horace, "I bought it with some idea that itmight interest _you_."

  "Then you were mistaken, sir. It does _not_ interest me. Why should I beinterested in a metal jar which, for anything that appears to thecontrary, may have been cast the other day at Birmingham?"

  "But there _is_ something," said Horace; "a seal or inscription of somesort engraved on the cap. Didn't I mention it?"

  "You said nothing about an inscription before," replied the Professor,with rather more interest. "What is the character--Arabic? Persian?Kufic?"

  "I really couldn't say--it's almost rubbed out--queer little triangularmarks, something like birds' footprints."

  "That sounds like Cuneiform," said the Professor, "which would seem topoint to a Phoenician origin. And, as I am acquainted with no Orientalbrass earlier than the ninth century of our era, I should regard yourdescription as, _a priori_, distinctly unlikely. However, I shouldcertainly like to have an opportunity of examining the bottle for myselfsome day."

  "Whenever you please, Professor. When can you come?"

  "Why, I'm so much occupied all day that I can't say for certain when Ican get up to your office again."

  "My own days will be fairly full now," said Horace; "and the thing's notat the office, but in my rooms at Vincent Square. Why shouldn't you allcome and dine quietly there some evening next week, and then you couldexamine the inscription comfortably afterwards, you know, Professor, andfind out what it really is? Do say you will." He was eager to have theprivilege of entertaining Sylvia in his own rooms for the first time.

  "No, no," said the Professor; "I see no reason why you should betroubled with the entire family. I may drop in alone some evening andtake the luck of the pot, sir."

  "Thank you, papa," put in Sylvia; "but _I_ should like to come too,please, and hear what you think of Horace's bottle. And I'm dying to seehis rooms. I believe they're fearfully luxurious."

  "I trust," observed her father, "that they are far indeed from answeringthat description. If they did, I should consider it a mostunsatisfactory indication of Horace's character."

  "There's nothing magnificent about them, I assure you," said Horace."Though it's true I've had them done up, and all that sort of thing, atmy own expense--but quite simply. I couldn't afford to spend much onthem. But do come and see them. I must have a little dinner, tocelebrate my good fortune--it will be so jolly if you'll all threecome."

  "If we do come," stipulated the Professor, "it must be on the distinctunderstanding that you don't provide an elaborate banquet. Plain,simple, wholesome food, well cooked, such as we have had this evening,is all that is necessary. More would be ostentatious."

  "My _dear_ dad!" protested Sylvia, in distress at this somewhatdictatorial speech. "Surely you can leave all that to Horace!"

  "Horace, my dear, understands that, in speaking as I did, I was simplytreating him as a potential member of my family." Here Sylvia made aprivate little grimace. "No young man who contemplates marrying shouldallow himself to launch into extravagance on the strength of prospectswhich, for all he can tell," said the Professor, genially, "may provefallacious. On the contrary, if his affection is sincere, he will incuras little expense as possible, put by every penny he can save, ratherthan subject the girl he professes to love to the ordeal of a longengagement. In other words, the truest lover is the best economist."

  "I quite understand, sir," said Horace, good-temperedly; "it would befoolish of me to attempt any ambitious form of entertainment--especiallyas my landlady, though an excellent plain cook, is not exactly a _cordonbleu_. So you can come to my modest board without misgivings."

  Before he left, a provisional date for the dinner was fixed for anevening towards the end of the next week, and Horace walked home,treading on air rather than hard paving-stones, and "striking the starswith his uplifted head."

  The next day he went down to Lipsfield and made the acquaintance of thewhole Wackerbath family, who were all enthusiastic about the proposedcountry house. The site was everything that the most exacting architectcould desire, and he came back to town the same evening, having spent apleasant day and learnt enough of his cli
ent's requirements, and--whatwas even more important--those of his client's wife and daughters, toenable him to begin work upon the sketch-plans the next morning.

  He had not been long in his rooms at Vincent Square, and was stillagreeably engaged in recalling the docility and ready appreciation withwhich the Wackerbaths had received his suggestions and rough sketches,their compliments and absolute confidence in his skill, when he had ashock which was as disagreeable as it was certainly unexpected.

  For the wall before him parted like a film, and through it stepped,smiling benignantly, the green-robed figure of Fakrash-el-Aamash, theJinnee.