The Brass Bottle

by F. Anstey

  THE EPILOGUE

  On a certain evening in May Horace Ventimore dined in a private room atthe Savoy, as one of the guests of Mr. Samuel Wackerbath. In fact, hemight almost be said to be the guest of the evening, as the dinner wasgiven by way of celebrating the completion of the host's new countryhouse at Lipsfield, of which Horace was the architect, and also tocongratulate him on his approaching marriage (which was fixed to takeplace early in the following month) with Miss Sylvia Futvoye.

  "Quite a small and friendly party!" said Mr. Wackerbath, looking roundon his numerous sons and daughters, as he greeted Horace in thereception-room. "Only ourselves, you see, Miss Futvoye, a young ladywith whom you are fairly well acquainted, and her people, and an oldschoolfellow of mine and his wife, who are not yet arrived. He's a manof considerable eminence," he added, with a roll of reflected importancein his voice; "quite worth your cultivating. Sir Lawrence Pountney, hisname is. I don't know if you remember him, but he discharged the onerousduties of Lord Mayor of London the year before last, and acquittedhimself very creditably--in fact, he got a baronetcy for it."

  As the year before last was the year in which Horace had paid hisinvoluntary visit to the Guildhall, he was able to reply with truth thathe _did_ remember Sir Lawrence.

  He was not altogether comfortable when the ex-Lord-Mayor was announced,for it would have been more than awkward if Sir Lawrence had chanced toremember _him_. Fortunately, he gave no sign that he did so, though hismanner was graciousness itself. "Delighted, my dear Mr. Ventimore," hesaid pressing Horace's hand almost as warmly as he had done that Octoberday of the dais, "most delighted to make your acquaintance! I am alwaysglad to meet a rising young man, and I hear that the house you havedesigned for my old friend here is a perfect palace--a marvel, sir!"

  "I knew he was my man," declared Mr. Wackerbath, as Horace modestlydisclaimed Sir Lawrence's compliment. "You remember, Pountney, my dearfellow, that day when we were crossing Westminster Bridge together, andI was telling you I thought of building? 'Go to one of the leadingmen--an R.A. and all that sort of thing,' you said, 'then you'll be sureof getting your money's worth.' But I said, 'No, I like to choose formyself; to--ah--exercise my own judgment in these matters. And there's ayoung fellow I have in my eye who'll beat 'em all, if he's given thechance. I'm off to see him now.' And off I went to Great Cloister Street(for he hadn't those palatial offices of his in Victoria Street at thattime) without losing another instant, and dropped in on him with mylittle commission. Didn't I, Ventimore?"

  "You did indeed," said Horace, wondering how far these reminiscenceswould go.

  "And," continued Mr. Wackerbath, patting Horace on the shoulder, "fromthat day to this I've never had a moment's reason to regret it. We'veworked in perfect sympathy. His ideas coincided with mine. I think hefound that I met him, so to speak, on all fours."

  Ventimore assented, though it struck him that a happier expressionmight, and would, have been employed if his client had remembered oneparticular interview in which he had not figured to advantage.

  They went in to dinner, in a room sumptuously decorated with panels ofgrey-green brocade and softly shaded lamps, and screens of gildedleather; through the centre of the table rose a tall palm, its boughshung with small electric globes like magic fruits.

  "This palm," said the Professor, who was in high good humour, "reallygives quite an Oriental look to the table. Personally, I think we mightreproduce the Arabian style of decoration and arrangement generally inour homes with great advantage. I often wonder it never occurred to myfuture son-in-law there to turn his talents in that direction and designan Oriental interior for himself. Nothing more comfortable andluxurious--for a bachelor's purposes."

  "I'm sure," said his wife, "Horace managed to make himself quitecomfortable enough as it was. He has the most delightful rooms inVincent Square." Ventimore heard her remark to Sir Lawrence: "I shallnever forget the first time we dined there, just after my daughter andhe were engaged. I was quite astonished: everything was soperfect--quite simple, you know, but _so_ ingeniously arranged, and hislandlady such an excellent cook, too! Still, of course, in many ways, itwill be nicer for him to have a home of his own."

  "With such a beautiful and charming companion to share it with," saidSir Lawrence, in his most florid manner, "the--ah--poorest home wouldprove a Paradise indeed! And I suppose now, my dear young lady," headded, raising his voice to address Sylvia, "you are busy making yourfuture abode as exquisite as taste and research can render it,ransacking all the furniture shops in London for treasures, and goingabout to auctions--or do you--ah--delegate that department to Mr.Ventimore?"

  "I do go about to old furniture shops, Sir Lawrence," she said, "but notauctions. I'm afraid I should only get just the thing I didn't want if Itried to bid.... And," she added, in a lower voice, turning to Horace,"I don't believe _you_ would be a bit more successful, Horace!"

  "What makes you say that, Sylvia?" he asked, with a start.

  "Why, do you mean to say you've forgotten how you went to that auctionfor papa, and came away without having managed to get a single thing?"she said. "What a short memory you must have!"

  There was only tender mockery in her eyes; absolutely no recollection ofthe sinister purchase he had made at that sale, or how nearly it hadseparated them for ever. So he hastened to admit that perhaps he had_not_ been particularly successful at the auction in question.

  Sir Lawrence next addressed him across the table. "I was just tellingMrs. Futvoye," he said, "how much I regretted that I had not theprivilege of your acquaintance during my year of office. A Lord Mayor,as you doubtless know, has exceptional facilities for exercisinghospitality, and it would have afforded me real pleasure if your firstvisit to the Guildhall could have been paid under my--hm--ha--auspices."

  "You are very kind," said Horace, very much on his guard; "I could notwish to pay it under better."

  "I flatter myself," said the ex-Lord Mayor, "that, while in office, Idid my humble best to maintain the traditions of the City, and I wasfortunate enough to have the honour of receiving more than the averagenumber of celebrities as guests. But I had one great disappointment, Imust tell you. It had always been a dream of mine that it might fall tomy lot to present some distinguished fellow-countryman with the freedomof the City. By some curious chance, when the opportunity seemed aboutto occur, the thing was put off and I missed it--missed it by thenearest hair-breadth!"

  "Ah, well, Sir Lawrence," said Ventimore, "one can't have _everything_!"

  "For my part," put in Lady Pountney, who had only caught a word or twoof her husband's remarks, "what _I_ miss most is having the sentinelspresent arms whenever I went out for a drive. They did it so nicely andrespectfully. I confess I enjoyed that. My husband never cared much forit. Indeed, he wouldn't even use the State coach unless he wasabsolutely obliged. He was as obstinate as a mule about it!"

  "I see, Lady Pountney," the Professor put in, "that you share the commonprejudice against mules. It's quite a mistaken one. The mule has neverbeen properly appreciated in this country. He is really the gentlest andmost docile of creatures!"

  "I can't say I like them myself," said Lady Pountney; "such a mongrelsort of animal--neither one thing nor the other!"

  "And they're hideous too, Anthony," added his wife. "And not at allclever!"

  "There you're mistaken, my dear," said the Professor; "they are capableof almost human intelligence. I have had considerable personalexperience of what a mule can do," he informed Lady Pountney, who seemedstill incredulous. "More than most people indeed, and I can assure you,my dear Lady Pountney, that they readily adapt themselves to almost anyenvironment, and will endure the greatest hardships without exhibitingany signs of distress. I see by your expression, Ventimore, that youdon't agree with me, eh?"

  Horace had to set his teeth hard for a moment, lest he should disgracehimself by a peal of untimely mirth--but by a strong effort of will hemanaged to command his muscles.

  "Well, sir," he said, "I've only chance
d to come into close contact withone mule in my life, and, frankly, I've no desire to repeat theexperience."

  "You happened to come upon an unfavourable specimen, that's all," saidthe Professor. "There are exceptions to every rule."

  "This animal," Horace said, "was certainly exceptional enough in everyway."

  "Do tell us all about it," pleaded one of the Miss Wackerbaths, and allthe ladies joined in the entreaty until Horace found himself under thenecessity of improvising a story, which, it must be confessed, fellexceedingly flat.

  This final ordeal past, he grew silent and thoughtful, as he sat thereby Sylvia's side, looking out through the glazed gallery outside uponthe spring foliage along the Embankment, the opaline river, and the shottowers and buildings on the opposite bank glowing warm brown against anevening sky of silvery blue.

  Not for the first time did it seem strange, incredible almost, to himthat all these people should be so utterly without any recollection ofevents which surely might have been expected to leave some trace uponthe least retentive memory--and yet it only proved once more howthoroughly and honourably the old Jinnee, now slumbering placidly in hisbottle deep down in unfathomable mud, opposite the very spot where theywere dining, had fulfilled his last undertaking.

  Fakrash, the brass bottle, and all the fantastic and embarrassingperformances were indeed as totally forgotten as though they had neverbeen.

  * * * * *

  And it is but too probable that even this modest and veracious accountof them will prove to have been included in the general act ofoblivion--though the author will trust as long as possible thatFakrash-el-Aamash may have neglected to provide for this particularcase, and that the history of the Brass Bottle may thus be permitted tolinger awhile in the memories of some at least of its readers.