The Brass Bottle

by F. Anstey

  CHAPTER VII

  "GRATITUDE--A LIVELY SENSE OF FAVOURS TO COME"

  Most men on suddenly finding themselves in possession of such enormouswealth would have felt some elation. Ventimore, as we have seen, wasmerely exasperated. And, although this attitude of his may strike thereader as incomprehensible or absolutely wrong-headed, he had morereason on his side than might appear at a first view.

  It was undoubtedly the fact that, with the money these treasuresrepresented, he would be in a position to convulse the money markets ofEurope and America, bring society to his feet, make and unmakekingdoms--dominate, in short, the entire world.

  "But, then," as Horace told himself with a groan, "it wouldn't amuse mein the least to convulse money markets. Do I want to see the smartestpeople in London grovelling for anything they think they're likely toget out of me? As I should be perfectly well aware that their homage wasnot paid to any personal merit of mine, I could hardly consider itflattering. And why should I make kingdoms? The only thing I understandand care about is making houses. Then, am I likely to be a better handat dominating the world than all the others who have tried theexperiment? I doubt it."

  He called to mind all the millionaires he had ever read or heard of;they didn't seem to get much fun out of their riches. The majority ofthem were martyrs to dyspepsia. They were often weighed down by thecares and responsibilities of their position; the only people who wereunable to obtain an audience of them at any time were their friends;they lived in a glare of publicity, and every post brought themhundreds of begging letters, and a few threats; their children were inconstant danger from kidnappers, and they themselves, after knowing norest in life, could not be certain that even their tombs would beundisturbed. Whether they were extravagant or thrifty, they were equallymaligned, and, whatever the fortune they left behind them, they could beabsolutely certain that, in a couple of generations, it would beentirely dissipated.

  "And the biggest millionaire living," concluded Horace, "is a paupercompared with me!"

  But there was another consideration--how was he to realise all thiswealth? He knew enough about precious stones to be aware that a ruby,for instance, of the true "pigeon's blood" colour and the size of amelon, as most of these rubies were, would be worth, even when cut,considerably over a million; but who would buy it?

  "I think I see myself," he reflected grimly, "calling on some diamondmerchant in Hatton Garden with half a dozen assorted jewels in aGladstone bag. If he believed they were genuine, he'd probably have afit; but most likely he'd think I'd invented some dodge formanufacturing them, and had been fool enough to overdo the size. Anyhow,he'd want to know how they came into my possession, and what could Isay? That they were part of a little present made to me by a Jinnee ingrateful acknowledgment of my having relieved him from a brass bottle inwhich he'd been shut up for nearly three thousand years? Look at it howyou will, it's _not_ convincing. I fancy I can guess what he'd say. Andwhat an ass I should look! Then suppose the thing got into the papers?"

  Got into the papers? Why, of course it would get into the papers. As ifit were possible in these days for a young and hitherto unemployedarchitect suddenly to surround himself with wondrous carpets, and goldvessels, and gigantic jewels without attracting the notice of someenterprising journalist. He would be interviewed; the story of hiscuriously acquired riches would go the round of the papers; he wouldfind himself the object of incredulity, suspicion, ridicule. Inimagination he could already see the headlines on the news-sheets:

  BOTTLED BILLIONS

  AMAZING ARABESQUES BY AN ARCHITECT

  HE SAYS THE JAR CONTAINED A JINNEE

  SENSATIONAL STORY

  DIVERTING DETAILS

  And so on, through every phrase of alliterative ingenuity. He ground histeeth at the mere thought of it. Then Sylvia would come to hear of it,and what would _she_ think? She would naturally be repelled, as anynice-minded girl would be, by the idea that her lover was in secretalliance with a supernatural being. And her father and mother--wouldthey allow her to marry a man, however rich, whose wealth came from sucha questionable source? No one would believe that he had not made someunholy bargain before consenting to set this incarcerated spiritfree--he, who had acted in absolute ignorance, who had persistentlydeclined all reward after realising what he had done!

  No, it was too much. Try as he might to do justice to the Jinnee'sgratitude and generosity, he could not restrain a bitter resentment atthe utter want of consideration shown in overloading him with gifts souseless and so compromising. No Jinnee--however old, however unfamiliarwith the world as it is now--had any right to be such a fool!

  And at this, above the ramparts of sacks and bales, which occupied allthe available space in the room, appeared Mrs. Rapkin's face.

  "I was going to ask you, sir, before them parcels came," she began,with a dry cough of disapproval, "what you would like in the way ofongtray to-morrow night. I thought if I could find a sweetbread at allreasonable----"

  To Horace--surrounded as he was by incalculable riches--sweetbreadsseemed incongruous just then; the transition of thought was too violent.

  "I can't bother about that now, Mrs. Rapkin," he said; "we'll settle itto-morrow. I'm too busy."

  "I suppose most of these things will have to go back, sir, if they'reonly sent on approval like?"

  If he only knew where and how he could send them back! "I--I'm notsure," he said; "I may have to keep them."

  "Well, sir, bargain or none, I wouldn't have 'em as a gift myself, beingso dirty and fusty; they can't be no use to anybody, not to mentionthere being no room to move with them blocking up all the place. I'dbetter tell Rapkin to carry 'em all upstairs out of people's way."

  "Certainly not," said Horace, sharply, by no means anxious for theRapkins to discover the real nature of his treasures. "Don't touch them,either of you. Leave them exactly as they are, do you understand?"

  "As you please, Mr. Ventimore, sir; only, if they're not to beinterfered with, I don't see myself how you're going to set your friendsdown to dinner to-morrow, that's all."

  And, indeed, considering that the table and every available chair, andeven the floor, were heaped so high with valuables that Horace himselfcould only just squeeze his way between the piles, it seemed as if hisguests might find themselves inconveniently cramped.

  "It will be all right," he said, with an optimism he was very far fromfeeling; "we'll manage somehow--leave it to me."

  Before he left for his office he took the precaution to baffle anyinquisitiveness on the part of his landlady by locking his sitting-roomdoor and carrying away the key, but it was in a very different mood fromhis former light-hearted confidence that he sat down to hisdrawing-board in Great Cloister Street that morning. He could notconcentrate his mind; his enthusiasm and his ideas had alike desertedhim.

  He flung down the dividers he had been using and pushed away the nest ofsaucers of Indian ink and colours in a fit of petulance. "It's no good,"he exclaimed aloud; "I feel a perfect duffer this morning. I couldn'teven design a decent dog-kennel!"

  Even as he spoke he became conscious of a presence in the room, and,looking round, saw Fakrash the Jinnee standing at his elbow, smilingdown on him more benevolently than ever, and with a serene expectationof being warmly welcomed and thanked, which made Horace rather ashamedof his own inability to meet it.

  "He's a thoroughly good-natured old chap," he thought,self-reproachfully. "He means well, and I'm a beast not to feel moreglad to see him. And yet, hang it all! I can't have him popping in andout of the office like a rabbit whenever the fancy takes him!"

  "Peace be upon thee," said Fakrash. "Moderate the trouble of thy heart,and impart thy difficulties to me."

  "Oh, they're nothing, thanks," said Horace, feeling decidedlyembarrassed. "I got stuck over my work for the moment, and it worried mea little--that's all."

  "Then thou hast not yet received the gifts which I commanded should bedelivered at thy dwelling-plac
e?"

  "Oh, indeed I have!" replied Horace; "and--and I really don't know howto thank you for them."

  "A few trifling presents," answered the Jinnee, "and by no means suitedto thy dignity--yet the best in my power to bestow upon thee for thetime being."

  "My dear sir, they simply overwhelm me with their magnificence! They'rebeyond all price, and--and I've no idea what to do with such asuperabundance."

  "A superfluity of good things is good," was the Jinnee's sententiousreply.

  "Not in my particular case. I--I quite feel your goodness andgenerosity; but, indeed, as I told you before, it's really impossiblefor me to accept any such reward."

  Fakrash's brows contracted slightly. "How sayest thou that it isimpossible--seeing that these things are already in thy possession?"

  "I know," said Horace; "but--you won't be offended if I speak quiteplainly?"

  "Art thou not even as a son to me, and can I be angered at any words ofthine?"

  "Well," said Horace, with sudden hope, "honestly, then, I would verymuch rather--if you're sure you don't mind--that you would take them allback again."

  "What? Dost thou demand that I, Fakrash-el-Aamash, should consent toreceive back the gifts I have bestowed? Are they, then, of so littlevalue in thy sight?"

  "They're of too much value. If I took such a reward for--for a veryordinary service, I should never be able to respect myself again."

  "This is not the reasoning of an intelligent person," said the Jinnee,coldly.

  "If you think me a fool, I can't help it. I'm not an ungrateful fool, atall events. But I feel very strongly that I can't keep these gifts ofyours."

  "So thou wouldst have me break the oath which I swore to reward theefitly for thy kind action?"

  "But you _have_ rewarded me already," said Horace, "by contriving that awealthy merchant should engage me to build him a residence. And--forgivemy plain speaking--if you truly desire my happiness (as I am sure youdo) you will relieve me of all these precious gems and merchandise,because, to be frank, they will _not_ make me happy. On the contrary,they are making me extremely uncomfortable."

  "In the days of old," said Fakrash, "all men pursued wealth; nor couldany amass enough to satisfy his desires. Have riches, then, become socontemptible in mortal eyes that thou findest them but an encumbrance?Explain the matter."

  Horace felt a natural delicacy in giving his real reasons. "I can'tanswer for other men," he said. "All I know is that I've never beenaccustomed to being rich, and I'd rather get used to it gradually, andbe able to feel that I owed it, as far as possible, to my own exertions.For, as I needn't tell _you_, Mr. Fakrash, riches alone don't make anyfellow happy. You must have observed that they're apt to--well, to landhim in all kinds of messes and worries.... I'm talking like a confoundedcopybook," he thought, "but I don't care how priggish I am if I can onlyget my way!"

  Fakrash was deeply impressed. "O young man of marvellous moderation!" hecried. "Thy sentiments are not inferior to those of the Great Suleymanhimself (on whom be peace!). Yet even he doth not utterly despise them,for he hath gold and ivory and precious stones in abundance. Norhitherto have I ever met a human being capable of rejecting them whenoffered. But, since thou seemest sincere in holding that my poor andpaltry gifts will not advance thy welfare, and since I would do theegood and not evil--be it even as thou wouldst. For excellently was itsaid: 'The worth of a present depends not on itself, nor on the giver,but on the receiver alone.'"

  Horace could hardly believe that he had really prevailed. "It'sextremely good of you, sir," he said, "to take it so well. And if you_could_ let that caravan call for them as soon as possible, it would bea great convenience to me. I mean--er--the fact is, I'm expecting a fewfriends to dine with me to-morrow, and, as my rooms are rather small atthe best of times, I don't quite know how I can manage to entertainthem at all unless something is done."

  "It will be the easiest of actions," replied Fakrash; "therefore, haveno fear that, when the time cometh, thou wilt not be able to entertainthy friends in a fitting manner. And for the caravan, it shall set outwithout delay."

  "By Jove, though, I'd forgotten one thing," said Horace: "I've locked upthe room where your presents are--they won't be able to get in withoutthe key."

  "Against the servants of the Jinn neither bolts nor bars can prevail.They shall enter therein and remove all that they brought thee, since itis thy desire."

  "Very many thanks," said Horace. "And you do _really_ understand thatI'm every bit as grateful as if I could keep the things? You see, I wantall my time and all my energies to complete the designs for thisbuilding, which," he added gracefully, "I should never be in a positionto do at all, but for your assistance."

  "On my arrival," said Fakrash, "I heard thee lamenting the difficultiesof the task; wherein do they consist?"

  "Oh," said Horace, "it's a little difficult to please all the differentpeople concerned, and myself too. I want to make something of it that Ishall be proud of, and that will give me a reputation. It's a largehouse, and there will be a good deal of work in it; but I shall manageit all right."

  "This is a great undertaking indeed," remarked the Jinnee, after he hadasked various by no means unintelligent questions and received theanswers. "But be persuaded that it shall all turn out most fortunatelyand thou shalt obtain great renown. And now," he concluded, "I amcompelled to take leave of thee, for I am still without any certaintidings of Suleyman."

  "You mustn't let me keep you," said Horace, who had been on thorns forsome minutes lest Beevor should return and find him with his mysteriousvisitor. "You see," he added instructively, "so long as you _will_neglect your own much more important affairs to look after mine, you canhardly expect to make _much_ progress, can you?"

  "How excellent is the saying," replied the Jinnee: "'The time which isspent in doing kindnesses, call it not wasted.'"

  "Yes, that's very good," said Horace, feeling driven to silence thismaxim, if possible, with one of his own invention. "But _we_ have asaying too--how does it go? Ah, I remember. 'It is possible for akindness to be more inconvenient than an injury.'"

  "Marvellously gifted was he who discovered such a saying!" criedFakrash.

  "I imagine," said Horace, "he learnt it from his own experience. By theway, what place were you thinking of drawing--I mean trying--next forSuleyman?"

  "I purpose to repair to Nineveh, and inquire there."

  "Capital," said Ventimore, with hearty approval, for he hoped that thiswould take the Jinnee some little time. "Wonderful city, Nineveh, fromall I've heard--though not quite what it used to be, perhaps. Thenthere's Babylon--you might go on there. And if you shouldn't hear of himthere, why not strike down into Central Africa, and do that thoroughly?Or South America; it's a pity to lose any chance--you've never been toSouth America yet?"

  "I have not so much as heard of such a country, and how should Suleymanbe there?"

  "Pardon me, I didn't say he _was_ there. All I meant to convey was, thathe's quite as likely to be there as anywhere else. But if you're goingto Nineveh first, you'd better lose no more time, for I've alwaysunderstood that it's rather an awkward place to get at--though probably_you_ won't find it very difficult."

  "I care not," said Fakrash, "though the search be long, for in travelthere are five advantages----"

  "I know," interrupted Horace, "so don't stop to describe them now. Ishould like to see you fairly started, and you really mustn't think itnecessary to break off your search again on my account, because, thanksto you, I shall get on splendidly alone for the future--if you'll kindlysee that that merchandise is removed."

  "Thine abode shall not be encumbered with it for another hour," said theJinnee. "O thou judicious one, in whose estimation wealth is of novalue, know that I have never encountered a mortal who pleased me asthou hast; and moreover, be assured that such magnanimity as thine shallnot go without a recompense!"

  "How often must I tell you," said Horace, in a glow of impatience, "thatI am already much more than recompen
sed? Now, my kind, generous oldfriend," he added, with an emotion that was not wholly insincere, "thetime has come to bid you farewell--for ever. Let me picture you asrevisiting your former haunts, penetrating to quarters of the globe(for, whether you are aware of it or not, this earth of ours _is_ aglobe) hitherto unknown to you, refreshing your mind by foreign traveland the study of mankind--but never, never for a moment losing sight ofyour main object, the eventual discovery of and reconciliation withSuleyman (on whom be peace!). That is the greatest, the only happinessyou can give me now. Good-bye, and _bon voyage_!"

  "May Allah never deprive thy friends of thy presence!" returned theJinnee, who was apparently touched by this exordium, "for truly thou arta most excellent young man!"

  And stepping back into the fireplace, he was gone in an instant.

  Ventimore sank back in his chair with a sigh of relief. He had begun tofear that the Jinnee never would take himself off, but he had gone atlast--and for good.

  He was half ashamed of himself for feeling so glad, for Fakrash was agood-natured old thing enough in his way. Only he _would_ overdo things:he had no sense of proportion. "Why," thought Horace, "if a fellowexpressed a modest wish for a canary in a cage he's just the sort of oldJinnee to bring him a whole covey of rocs in an aviary about ten timesthe size of the Crystal Palace. However, he _does_ understand now that Ican't take anything more from him, and he isn't offended either, so_that's_ all settled. Now I can set to work and knock off these plans inpeace and quietness."

  But he had not done much before he heard sounds in the next room whichtold him that Beevor had returned at last. He had been expected backfrom the country for the last day or two, and it was fortunate that hehad delayed so long, thought Ventimore, as he went in to see him and totell him the unexpected piece of good fortune that he himself had metwith since they last met. It is needless to say that, in giving hisaccount, he abstained from any mention of the brass bottle or theJinnee, as unessential elements in his story.

  Beevor's congratulations were quite as cordial as could be expected, assoon as he fully understood that no hoax was intended. "Well, old man,"he said, "I _am_ glad. I really am, you know. To think of a prize likethat coming to you the very first time! And you don't even know how thisMr. Wackerbath came to hear of you--just happened to see your name upoutside and came in, I expect. Why, I dare say, if I hadn't chanced togo away as I did--and about a couple of paltry two thousand poundhouses, too! Ah, well, I don't grudge you your luck, though it _does_seem rather---- It was worth waiting for; you'll be cutting _me_ outbefore long--if you don't make a mess of this job. I mean, you know, oldchap, if you don't go and give your City man a Gothic castle when whathe wants is something with plenty of plate-glass windows and aCorinthian portico. That's the rock I see ahead of _you_. You mustn'tmind my giving you a word of warning!"

  "Oh no," said Ventimore; "but I shan't give him either a Gothic castleor plenty of plate-glass. I venture to think he'll be pleased with thegeneral idea as I'm working it out."

  "Let's hope so," said Beevor. "If you get into any difficulty, youknow," he added, with a touch of patronage, "just you come to me."

  "Thanks," said Horace, "I will. But I'm getting on very fairly atpresent."

  "I should rather like to see what you've made of it. I might be able togive you a wrinkle here and there."

  "It's awfully good of you, but I think I'd rather you didn't see theplans till they're quite finished," said Horace. The truth was that hewas perfectly aware that the other would not be in sympathy with hisideas; and Horace, who had just been suffering from a cold fit ofdepression about his work, rather shrank from any kind of criticism.

  "Oh, just as you please!" said Beevor, a little stiffly; "you always_were_ an obstinate beggar. I've had a certain amount of experience, youknow, in my poor little pottering way, and I thought I might possiblyhave saved you a cropper or two. But if you think you can manage betteralone--only don't get bolted with by one of those architectural hobbiesof yours, that's all."

  "All right, old fellow. I'll ride my hobby on the curb," said Horace,laughing, as he went back to his own office, where he found that all hisformer certainty and enjoyment of his work had returned to him, and bythe end of the day he had made so much progress that his designs neededonly a few finishing touches to be complete enough for his client'sinspection.

  Better still, on returning to his rooms that evening to change beforegoing to Kensington, he found that the admirable Fakrash had kept hispromise--every chest, sack, and bale had been cleared away.

  "Them camels come back for the things this afternoon, sir," said Mrs.Rapkin, "and it put me in a fluster at first, for I made sure you'dlocked your door and took the key. But I must have beenmistook--leastways, them Arabs got in somehow. I hope you meanteverything to go back?"

  "Quite," said Horace; "I saw the--the person who sent them this morning,and told him there was nothing I cared for enough to keep."

  "And like his impidence sending you a lot o' rubbish like that onapproval--and on camels, too!" declared Mrs. Rapkin. "I'm sure I don'tknow what them advertising firms will try next--pushing, _I_ call it."

  Now that everything was gone, Horace felt a little natural regret anddoubt whether he need have been quite so uncompromising in his refusalof the treasures. "I might have kept some of those tissues and thingsfor Sylvia," he thought; "and she loves pearls. And a prayer-carpetwould have pleased the Professor tremendously. But no, after all, itwouldn't have done. Sylvia couldn't go about in pearls the size of newpotatoes, and the Professor would only have ragged me for more recklessextravagance. Besides, if I'd taken any of the Jinnee's gifts, he mightkeep on pouring more in, till I should be just where I was before--orworse off, really, because I couldn't decently refuse them, then. Soit's best as it is."

  And really, considering his temperament and the peculiar nature of hisposition, it is not easy to see how he could have arrived at any otherconclusion.