by F. Anstey
CHAPTER VI
EMBARRAS DE RICHESSES
Ventimore had so thoroughly convinced himself that the released Jinneewas purely a creature of his own imagination, that he rubbed his eyeswith a start, hoping that they had deceived him.
"Stroke thy head, O merciful and meritorious one," said his visitor,"and recover thy faculties to receive good tidings. For it is indeedI--Fakrash-el-Aamash--whom thou beholdest."
"I--I'm delighted to see you," said Horace, as cordially as he could."Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Nay, for hast thou not done me the greatest of all services by settingme free? To escape out of a bottle is pleasant. And to thee I owe mydeliverance."
It was all true, then: he had really let an imprisoned Genius or Jinnee,or whatever it was, out of that bottle! He knew he could not be dreamingnow--he only wished he were. However, since it was done, his best courseseemed to be to put a good face on it, and persuade this uncanny beingsomehow to go away and leave him in peace for the future.
"Oh, that's all right, my dear sir," he said, "don't think any moreabout it. I--I rather understood you to say that you were starting on ajourney in search of Solomon?"
"I have been, and returned. For I visited sundry cities in hisdominions, hoping that by chance I might hear news of him, but Irefrained from asking directly lest thereby I should engender suspicion,and so Suleyman should learn of my escape before I could obtain anaudience of him and implore justice."
"Oh, I shouldn't think that was likely," said Horace. "If I were you, Ishould go straight back and go on travelling till I _did_ findSuleyman."
"Well was it said: 'Pass not any door without knocking, lest haply thatwhich thou seekest should be behind it.'"
"Exactly," said Horace. "Do each city thoroughly, house by house, anddon't neglect the smallest clue. 'If at first you don't succeed, try,try, try, again!' as one of our own poets teaches."
"'Try, try, try again,'" echoed the Jinnee, with an admiration that wasalmost fatuous. "Divinely gifted truly was he who composed such averse!"
"He has a great reputation as a sage," said Horace, "and the maxim isconsidered one of his happiest efforts. Don't you think that, as theEast is rather thickly populated, the less time you lose in followingthe poet's recommendation the better?"
"It may be as thou sayest. But know this, O my son, that wheresoever Imay wander, I shall never cease to study how I may most fitly rewardthee for thy kindness towards me. For nobly it was said: 'If I bepossessed of wealth and be not liberal, may my head never be extended!'"
"My good sir," said Horace, "do please understand that if you were tooffer me any reward for--for a very ordinary act of courtesy, I shouldbe obliged to decline it."
"But didst thou not say that thou wast sorely in need of a client?"
"That was so at the time," said Horace; "but since I last had thepleasure of seeing you, I have met with one who is all I could possiblywish for."
"I am indeed rejoiced to hear it," returned the Jinnee, "for thoushowest me that I have succeeded in performing the first service whichthou hast demanded of me."
Horace staggered under this severe blow to his pride; for the moment hecould only gasp: "You--_you_ sent him to me?"
"I, and no other," said the Jinnee, beaming with satisfaction; "forwhile, unseen of men, I was circling in air, resolved to attend to thyaffair before beginning my search for Suleyman (on whom be peace!), itchanced that I overheard a human being of prosperous appearance sayaloud upon a bridge that he desired to erect for himself a palace if hecould but find an architect. So, perceiving thee afar off seated at anopen casement, I immediately transported him to the place and deliveredhim into thy hands."
"But he knew my name--he had my card in his pocket," said Horace.
"I furnished him with the paper containing thy names and abode, lest heshould be ignorant of them."
"Well, look here, Mr. Fakrash," said the unfortunate Horace, "I know youmeant well--but _never_ do a thing like that again! If mybrother-architects came to know of it I should be accused of mostunprofessional behaviour. I'd no idea you would take that way ofintroducing a client to me, or I should have stopped it at once!"
"It was an error," said Fakrash. "No matter. I will undo this affair,and devise some other and better means of serving thee."
"No, no," he said, "for Heaven's sake, leave things alone--you'll onlymake them worse. Forgive me, my dear Mr. Fakrash, I'm afraid I must seemmost ungrateful; but--but I was so taken by surprise. And really, I amextremely obliged to you. For, though the means you took were----were alittle irregular, you have done me a very great service."
"It is naught," said the Jinnee, "compared to those I hope to render sogreat a benefactor."
"But, indeed, you mustn't think of trying to do any more for me," urgedHorace, who felt the absolute necessity of expelling any scheme offurther benevolence from the Jinnee's head once and for all. "You havedone enough. Why, thanks to you, I am engaged to build a palace thatwill keep me hard at work and happy for ever so long."
"Are human beings, then, so enamoured of hard labour?" asked Fakrash, inwonder. "It is not thus with the Jinn."
"I love my work for its own sake," said Horace, "and then, when I havefinished it, I shall have earned a very fair amount of money--which isparticularly important to me just now."
"And why, my son, art thou so desirous of obtaining riches?"
"Because," said Horace, "unless a man is tolerably well off in thesedays he cannot hope to marry."
Fakrash smiled with indulgent compassion. "How excellent is the sayingof one of old: 'He that adventureth upon matrimony is like unto one whothrusteth his hand into a sack containing many thousands of serpents andone eel. Yet, if Fate so decree, he _may_ draw forth the eel.' And thouart comely, and of an age when it is natural to desire the love of amaiden. Therefore be of good heart and a cheerful eye, and it may bethat, when I am more at leisure, I shall find thee a helpmate who shallrejoice thy soul."
"Please don't trouble to find me anything of the sort!" said Horace,hastily, with a mental vision of some helpless and scandalised strangerbeing shot into his dwelling like coals. "I assure you I would muchrather win a wife for myself in the ordinary way--as, thanks to yourkindness, I have every hope of doing before long."
"Is there already some damsel for whom thy heart pineth? If so, fear notto tell me her names and dwelling place, and I will assuredly obtain herfor thee."
But Ventimore had seen enough of the Jinnee's Oriental methods to doubthis tact and discretion where Sylvia was concerned. "No, no; of coursenot. I spoke generally," he said. "It's exceedingly kind of you--but I_do_ wish I could make you understand that I am overpaid as it is. Youhave put me in the way to make a name and fortune for myself. If I fail,it will be my own fault. And, at all events, I want nothing more fromyou. If you mean to find Suleyman (on whom be peace!) you must go andlive in the East altogether--for he certainly isn't over here; you mustgive up your whole time to it, keep as quiet as possible, and don't bediscouraged by any reports you may hear. Above all, never trouble yourhead about me or my affairs again!"
"O thou of wisdom and eloquence," said Fakrash, "this is most excellentadvice. I will go, then; but may I drink the cup of perdition if Ibecome unmindful of thy benevolence!"
And, raising his joined hands above his head as he spoke, he sank, feetforemost, through the carpet and was gone.
"Thank Heaven," thought Ventimore, "he's taken the hint at last. I don'tthink I'm likely to see any more of him. I feel an ungrateful brute forsaying so, but I can't help it. I can _not_ stand being under anyobligation to a Jinnee who's been shut up in a beastly brass bottle eversince the days of Solomon, who probably had very good reasons forputting him there."
Horace next asked himself whether he was bound in honour to disclose thefacts to Mr. Wackerbath, and give him the opportunity of withdrawingfrom the agreement if he thought fit.
On the whole, he saw no necessity for telling him anything; the onlypossib
le result would be to make his client suspect his sanity; and whowould care to employ an insane architect? Then, if he retired from theundertaking without any explanations, what could he say to Sylvia? Whatwould Sylvia's father say to _him_? There would certainly be an end tohis engagement.
After all, he had not been to blame; the Wackerbaths were quitesatisfied. He felt perfectly sure that he could justify their selectionof him; he would wrong nobody by accepting the commission, while hewould only offend them, injure himself irretrievably, and lose all hopeof gaining Sylvia if he made any attempt to undeceive them.
And Fakrash was gone, never to return. So, on all these considerations,Horace decided that silence was his only possible policy, and, thoughsome moralists may condemn his conduct as disingenuous and wanting intrue moral courage, I venture to doubt whether any reader, howeverindependent, straightforward, and indifferent to notoriety and ridicule,would have behaved otherwise in Ventimore's extremely delicate anddifficult position.
Some days passed, every working hour of which was spent by Horace in therapture of creation. To every man with the soul of an artist in himthere comes at times--only too seldom in most cases--a revelation oflatent power that he had not dared to hope for. And now with Ventimoreyears of study and theorising which he had often been tempted to thinkwasted began to bear golden fruit. He designed and drew with a rapidityand originality, a sense of perfect mastery of the various problems tobe dealt with, and a delight in the working out of mass and detail, sointoxicating that he almost dreaded lest he should be the victim of someself-delusion.
His evenings were of course spent with the Futvoyes, in discoveringSylvia in some new and yet more adorable aspect. Altogether, he was verymuch in love, very happy, and very busy--three states not invariablyfound in combination.
And, as he had foreseen, he had effectually got rid of Fakrash, who wasevidently too engrossed in the pursuit of Solomon to think of anythingelse. And there seemed no reason why he should abandon his search for ageneration or two, for it would probably take all that time to convincehim that that mighty monarch was no longer on the throne.
"It would have been too brutal to tell him myself," thought Horace,"when he was so keen on having his case reheard. And it gives him anobject, poor old buffer, and keeps him from interfering in my affairs,so it's best for both of us."
Horace's little dinner-party had been twice postponed, till he had begunto have a superstitious fear that it would never come off; but at lengththe Professor had been induced to give an absolute promise for a certainevening.
On the day before, after breakfast, Horace had summoned his landlady toa consultation on the _menu_. "Nothing elaborate, you know, Mrs.Rapkin," said Horace, who, though he would have liked to provide a feastof all procurable delicacies for Sylvia's refection, was obliged torespect her father's prejudices. "Just a simple dinner, thoroughly wellcooked, and nicely served--as you know so well how to do it."
"I suppose, sir, you would require Rapkin to wait?"
As the ex-butler was liable to trances on these occasions during whichhe could do nothing but smile and bow with speechless politeness as hedropped sauce-boats and plates, Horace replied that he thought of havingsomeone in to avoid troubling Mr. Rapkin; but his wife expressed suchconfidence in her husband's proving equal to all emergencies, thatVentimore waived the point, and left it to her to hire extra help if shethought fit.
"Now, what soup can you give us?" he inquired, as Mrs. Rapkin stood atattention and quite unmollified.
After protracted mental conflict, she grudgingly suggested gravysoup--which Horace thought too unenterprising, and rejected in favour ofmock turtle. "Well then, fish?" he continued; "how about fish?"
Mrs. Rapkin dragged the depths of her culinary resources for severalseconds, and finally brought to the surface what she called "a nicefried sole." Horace would not hear of it, and urged her to aspire tosalmon; she substituted smelts, which he opposed by a happy inspirationof turbot and lobster sauce. The sauce, however, presented insuperabledifficulties to her mind, and she offered a compromise in the form ofcod--which he finally accepted as a fish which the Professor couldhardly censure for ostentation.
Next came the no less difficult questions of _entree_ or no _entree_, ofjoint and bird. "What's in season just now?" said Horace; "let mesee"--and glanced out of the window as he spoke, as though in search ofsome outside suggestion.... "Camels, by Jove!" he suddenly exclaimed.
"_Camels_, Mr. Ventimore, sir?" repeated Mrs. Rapkin, in somebewilderment; and then, remembering that he was given to untimelyflippancy, she gave a tolerant little cough.
"I'll be shot if they _aren't_ camels!" said Horace. "What do _you_ makeof 'em, Mrs. Rapkin?"
Out of the faint mist which hung over the farther end of the squareadvanced a procession of tall, dust-coloured animals, with long,delicately poised necks and a mincing gait. Even Mrs. Rapkin could notsucceed in making anything of them except camels.
"What the deuce does a caravan of camels want in Vincent Square?" saidHorace, with a sudden qualm for which he could not account.
"Most likely they belong to the Barnum Show, sir," suggested hislandlady. "I did hear they were coming to Olympia again this year."
"Why, of course," cried Horace, intensely relieved. "It's on their wayfrom the Docks--at least, it isn't _out_ of their way. Or probably themain road's up for repairs. That's it--they'll turn off to the left atthe corner. See, they've got Arab drivers with them. Wonderful how thefellows manage them."
"It seems to me, sir," said Mrs. Rapkin, "that they're coming _our_way--they seem to be stopping outside."
"Don't talk such infernal---- I beg your pardon, Mrs. Rapkin; but whyon earth should Barnum and Bailey's camels come out of their way to callon _me_? It's ridiculous, you know!" said Horace, irritably.
"Ridicklous it _may_ be, sir," she retorted, "but they're all layin'down on the road opposite our door, as you can see--and them niggers ismaking signs to you to come out and speak to 'em."
It was true enough. One by one the camels, which were apparently of thepurest breed, folded themselves up in a row like campstools at a signfrom their attendants, who were now making profound salaams towards thewindow where Ventimore was standing.
"I suppose I'd better go down and see what they want," he said, withrather a sickly smile. "They may have lost the way to Olympia.... I onlyhope Fakrash isn't at the bottom of this," he thought, as he wentdownstairs. "But he'd come himself--at all events, he wouldn't send me amessage on such a lot of camels!" As he appeared on the doorstep, allthe drivers flopped down and rubbed their flat, black noses on thecurbstone.
"For Heaven's sake get up!" said Horace angrily. "This isn'tHammersmith. Turn to the left, into the Vauxhall Bridge Road, and ask apoliceman the nearest way to Olympia."
"Be not angry with thy slaves!" said the head driver, in excellentEnglish. "We are here by command of Fakrash-el-Aamash, our lord, whom weare bound to obey. And we have brought thee these as gifts."
"My compliments to your master," said Horace, between his teeth, "andtell him that a London architect has no sort of occasion for camels. Saythat I am extremely obliged--but am compelled to decline them."
"O highly born one," explained the driver, "the camels are not agift--but the loads which are upon the camels. Suffer us, therefore,since we dare not disobey our lord's commands, to carry these triflingtokens of his good will into thy dwelling and depart in peace."
Horace had not noticed till then that every camel bore a heavy burden,which the attendants were now unloading. "Oh, if you _must_!" he said,not too graciously; "only do look sharp about it--there's a crowdcollecting already, and I don't want to have a constable here."
He returned to his rooms, where he found Mrs. Rapkin paralysed withamazement. "It's--it's all right," he said; "I'd forgotten--it's only afew Oriental things from the place where that brass bottle came from,you know. They've left them here--on approval."
"Seems funny their sending their goods 'ome on camels, sir, doe
sn't it?"said Mrs. Rapkin.
"Not at all funny!" said Horace; "they--they're an enterprisingfirm--their way of advertising."
One after another, a train of dusky attendants entered, each of whomdeposited his load on the floor with a guttural grunt and returnedbackward, until the sitting-room was blocked with piles of sacks, andbales, and chests, whereupon the head driver appeared and intimated thatthe tale of gifts was complete.
"I wonder what sort of tip this fellow expects," thought Horace; "asovereign seems shabby--but it's all I can run to. I'll try him withthat."
But the overseer repudiated all idea of a gratuity with stately dignity,and as Horace saw him to the gate, he found a stolid constable by therailings.
"This won't _do_, you know," said the constable; "these 'ere camels mustmove on--or I shall 'ave to interfere."
"It's all right, constable," said Horace, pressing into his hand thesovereign the head driver had rejected; "they're going to move on now.They've brought me a few presents from--from a friend of mine in theEast."
By this time the attendants had mounted the kneeling camels, which rosewith them, and swung off round the square in a long, swaying trot thatsoon left the crowd far behind, staring blankly after the caravan ascamel after camel disappeared into the haze.
"I shouldn't mind knowin' that friend o' yours, sir," said theconstable; "open-hearted sort o' gentleman, I should think?"
"Very!" said Horace, savagely, and returned to his room, which Mrs.Rapkin had now left.
His hands shook, though not with joy, as he untied some of the sacks andbales and forced open the outlandish-looking chests, the contents ofwhich almost took away his breath.
For in the bales were carpets and tissues which he saw at a glance mustbe of fabulous antiquity and beyond all price; the sacks held goldenewers and vessels of strange workmanship and pantomimic proportions; thechests were full of jewels--ropes of creamy-pink pearls as large asaverage onions, strings of uncut rubies and emeralds, the smallest ofwhich would have been a tight fit in an ordinary collar-box, anddiamonds, roughly facetted and polished, each the size of a coconut, inwhose hearts quivered a liquid and prismatic radiance.
On the most moderate computation, the total value of these gifts couldhardly be less than several hundred millions; never probably in theworld's history had any treasury contained so rich a store.
It would have been difficult for anybody, on suddenly finding himselfthe possessor of this immense incalculable wealth, to make any commentquite worthy of the situation, but, surely, none could have been moreinadequate and indeed inappropriate than Horace's--which, heartfelt asit was, was couched in the simple monosyllable--"Damn!"
