by F. Anstey
CHAPTER XI
A FOOL'S PARADISE
Ventimore found next morning that his bath and shaving-water had beenbrought up, from which he inferred, quite correctly, that his landladymust have returned.
Secretly he was by no means looking forward to his next interview withher, but she appeared with his bacon and coffee in a spirit so evidentlychastened that he saw that he would have no difficulty so far as she wasconcerned.
"I'm sure, Mr. Ventimore, sir," she began, apologetically, "I don't knowwhat you must have thought of me and Rapkin last night, leaving thehouse like we did!"
"It was extremely inconvenient," said Horace, "and not at all what Ishould have expected from you. But possibly you had some reason for it?"
"Why, sir," said Mrs. Rapkin, running her hand nervously along the backof a chair, "the fact is, something come over me, and come over Rapkin,as we couldn't stop here another minute not if it was ever so."
"Ah!" said Horace, raising his eyebrows, "restlessness--eh, Mrs. Rapkin?Awkward that it should come on just then, though, wasn't it?"
"It was the look of the place, somehow," said Mrs. Rapkin. "If you'llbelieve me, sir, it was all changed like--nothing in it the same fromtop to bottom!"
"Really?" said Horace. "I don't notice any difference myself."
"No more don't I, sir, not by daylight; but last night it was all domesand harches and marble fountings let into the floor, with partiesmoving about downstairs all silent and as black as your hat--whichRapkin saw them as well as what I did."
"From the state your husband was in last night," said Horace, "I shouldsay he was capable of seeing anything--and double of most things."
"I won't deny, sir, that Rapkin mayn't have been quite hisself, as avery little upsets him after he's spent an afternoon studying the papersand what-not at the libery. But I see the niggers too, Mr. Ventimore,and no one can say _I_ ever take more than is good for me."
"I don't suggest that for a moment, Mrs. Rapkin," said Horace; "only, ifthe house was as you describe last night, how do you account for itsbeing all right this morning?"
Mrs. Rapkin in her embarrassment was reduced to folding her apron intosmall pleats. "It's not for me to say, sir," she replied, "but, if I wasto give my opinion, it would be as them parties as called 'ere on camelsthe other day was at the bottom of it."
"I shouldn't wonder if you were right, Mrs. Rapkin," said Horaceblandly; "you see, you had been exerting yourself over the cooking, andno doubt were in an over-excited state, and, as you say, those camelshad taken hold of your imagination until you were ready to see anythingthat Rapkin saw, and _he_ was ready to see anything _you_ did. It's notat all uncommon. Scientific people, I believe, call it 'CollectiveHallucination.'"
"Law, sir!" said the good woman, considerably impressed by thisdiagnosis, "you don't mean to say I had _that_? I was always fancifulfrom a girl, and could see things in coffee-grounds as nobody elsecould--but I never was took like that before. And to think of me leavingmy dinner half cooked, and you expecting your young lady and her pa andma! Well, _there_, now, I _am_ sorry. Whatever did you do, sir?"
"We managed to get food of sorts from somewhere," said Horace, "but itwas most uncomfortable for me, and I trust, Mrs. Rapkin--I sincerelytrust that it will not occur again."
"That I'll answer for it shan't, sir. And you won't take no notice toRapkin, sir, will you? Though it was his seein' the niggers and that asput it into my 'ed; but I 'ave spoke to him pretty severe already, andhe's truly sorry and ashamed for forgetting hisself as he did."
"Very well, Mrs. Rapkin," said Horace; "we will understand that lastnight's--hem--rather painful experience is not to be alluded toagain--on either side."
He felt sincerely thankful to have got out of it so easily, for it wasimpossible to say what gossip might not have been set on foot if theRapkins had not been brought to see the advisability of reticence on thesubject.
"There's one more thing, sir, I wished for to speak to you about," saidMrs. Rapkin; "that great brass vawse as you bought at an oction sometime back. I dunno if you remember it?"
"I remember it," said Horace. "Well, what about it?"
"Why, sir, I found it in the coal-cellar this morning, and I thought I'dask if that was where you wished it kep' in future. For, though noamount o' polish could make it what I call a tasty thing, it's neitherhorniment nor yet useful where it is at present."
"Oh," said Horace, rather relieved, for he had an ill-defined dread fromher opening words that the bottle might have been misbehaving itself insome way. "Put it wherever you please, Mrs. Rapkin; do whatever you likewith it--so long as I don't see the thing again!"
"Very good, sir; I on'y thought I'd ask the question," said Mrs. Rapkin,as she closed the door upon herself.
Altogether, Horace walked to Great Cloister Street that morning in afairly cheerful mood and amiably disposed, even towards the Jinnee. Withall his many faults, he was a thoroughly good-natured old devil--verysuperior in every way to the one the Arabian Nights fisherman found in_his_ bottle.
"Ninety-nine Jinn out of a hundred," thought Horace, "would have turnednasty on finding benefit after benefit 'declined with thanks.' But onegood point in Fakrash is that he _does_ take a hint in good part, and,as soon as he can be made to see where he's wrong, he's always ready toset things right. And he thoroughly understands now that these Orientaldodges of his won't do nowadays, and that when people see a pennilessman suddenly wallowing in riches they naturally want to know how he cameby them. I don't suppose he will trouble me much in future. If he shouldlook in now and then, I must put up with it. Perhaps, if I suggested it,he wouldn't mind coming in some form that would look less outlandish. Ifhe would get himself up as a banker, or a bishop--the Bishop of Bagdad,say--I shouldn't care how often he called. Only, I can't have him comingdown the chimney in either capacity. But he'll see that himself. Andhe's done me one real service--I mustn't let myself forget that. He sentme old Wackerbath. By the way, I wonder if he's seen my designs yet, andwhat he thinks of them."
He was at his table, engaged in jotting down some rough ideas for thedecoration of the reception-rooms in the projected house, when Beevorcame in.
"I've got nothing doing just now," he said; "so I thought I'd come inand have a squint at those plans of yours, if they're forward enough tobe seen yet."
Ventimore had to explain that even the imperfect method of examinationproposed was not possible, as he had despatched the drawings to hisclient the night before.
"Phew!" said Beevor; "that's sharp work, isn't it?"
"I don't know. I've been sticking hard at it for over a fortnight."
"Well, you might have given me a chance of seeing what you've made ofit. I let you see all _my_ work!"
"To tell you the honest truth, old fellow, I wasn't at all sure you'dlike it, and I was afraid you'd put me out of conceit with what I'ddone, and Wackerbath was in a frantic hurry to have the plans--so thereit was."
"And do you think he'll be satisfied with them?"
"He ought to be. I don't like to be cock-sure, but I believe--I reallydo believe--that I've given him rather more than he expected. It's goingto be a devilish good house, though I say it myself."
"Something new-fangled and fantastic, eh? Well, he mayn't care about it,you know. When you've had my experience, you'll realise that a client isa rum bird to satisfy."
"I shall satisfy _my_ old bird," said Horace, gaily. "He'll have a cagehe can hop about in to his heart's content."
"You're a clever chap enough," said Beevor; "but to carry a big job likethis through you want one thing--and that's ballast."
"Not while you heave yours at my head! Come, old fellow, you aren'treally riled because I sent off those plans without showing them to you?I shall soon have them back, and then you can pitch into 'em as much asyou please. Seriously, though, I shall want all the help you can sparewhen I come to the completed designs."
"'Um," said Beevor, "you've got along very well alone so far--at least,by yo
ur own account; so I dare say you'll be able to manage without meto the end. Only, you know," he added, as he left the room, "you haven'twon your spurs yet. A fellow isn't necessarily a Gilbert Scott, or aNorman Shaw, or a Waterhouse just because he happens to get asixty-thousand pound job the first go off!"
"Poor old Beevor!" thought Horace, repentantly, "I've put his back up.I might just as well have shown him the plans, after all; it wouldn'thave hurt me and it would have pleased _him_. Never mind, I'll make mypeace with him after lunch. I'll ask him to give me his idea for a--no,hang it all, even friendship has its limits!"
He returned from lunch to hear what sounded like an altercation of somesort in his office, in which, as he neared his door, Beevor's voice wasdistinctly audible.
"My dear sir," he was saying, "I have already told you that it is noaffair of mine."
"But I ask you, sir, as a brother architect," said another voice,"whether you consider it professional or reasonable----?"
"As a brother architect," replied Beevor, as Ventimore opened the door,"I would rather be excused from giving an opinion.... Ah, here is Mr.Ventimore himself."
Horace entered, to find himself confronted by Mr. Wackerbath, whose facewas purple and whose white whiskers were bristling with rage. "So, sir!"he began. "So, sir!----" and choked ignominiously.
"There appears to have been some misunderstanding, my dear Ventimore,"explained Beevor, with a studious correctness which was only a shadeless offensive than open triumph. "I think I'd better leave you and thisgentleman to talk it over quietly."
"Quietly?" exclaimed Mr. Wackerbath, with an apoplectic snort;"_quietly!!_"
"I've no idea what you are so excited about, sir," said Horace. "Perhapsyou will explain?"
"Explain!" Mr. Wackerbath gasped; "why--no, if I speak just now, I shallbe ill: _you_ tell him," he added, waving a plump hand in Beevor'sdirection.
"I'm not in possession of all the facts," said Beevor, smoothly; "but,so far as I can gather, this gentleman thinks that, considering theimportance of the work he intrusted to your hands, you have given lesstime to it than he might have expected. As I have told him, that is amatter which does not concern me, and which he must discuss with you."
So saying, Beevor retired to his own room, and shut the door with thesame irreproachable discretion, which conveyed that he was not in theleast surprised, but was too much of a gentleman to show it.
"Well, Mr. Wackerbath," began Horace, when they were alone, "so you'redisappointed with the house?"
"Disappointed!" said Mr. Wackerbath, furiously. "I am disgusted, sir,disgusted!"
Horace's heart sank lower still; had he deceived himself after all,then? Had he been nothing but a conceited fool, and--most gallingthought of all--had Beevor judged him only too accurately? And yet, no,he could not believe it--he _knew_ his work was good!
"This is plain speaking with a vengeance," he said; "I'm sorry you'redissatisfied. I did my best to carry out your instructions."
"Oh, you did?" sputtered Mr. Wackerbath. "That's what you call--but goon, sir, _go_ on!"
"I got it done as quickly as possible," continued Horace, "because Iunderstood you wished no time to be lost."
"No one can accuse you of dawdling over it. What I should like to knowis how the devil you managed to get it done in the time?"
"I worked incessantly all day and every day," said Horace. "That's how Imanaged it--and this is all the thanks I get for it!"
"Thanks?" Mr. Wackerbath well-nigh howled. "You--you insolent youngcharlatan; you expect thanks!"
"Now look here, Mr. Wackerbath," said Horace, whose own temper wasgetting a little frayed. "I'm not accustomed to being treated like this,and I don't intend to submit to it. Just tell me--in as moderatelanguage as you can command--what you object to?"
"I object to the whole damned thing, sir! I mean, I repudiate the entireconcern. It's the work of a raving lunatic--a place that no Englishgentleman, sir, with any self-respect or--ah!--consideration for hisreputation and position in the county, could consent to occupy for asingle hour!"
"Oh," said Horace, feeling deathly sick, "in that case it is useless, ofcourse, to suggest any modifications."
"Absolutely!" said Mr. Wackerbath.
"Very well, then; there's no more to be said," replied Horace. "You willhave no difficulty in finding an architect who will be more successfulin realising your intentions. Mr. Beevor, the gentleman you met justnow," he added, with a touch of bitterness, "would probably be just yourman. Of course I retire altogether. And really, if any one is thesufferer over this, I fancy it's myself. I can't see how you are any theworse."
"Not any the worse?" cried Mr. Wackerbath, "when the infernal place isbuilt!"
"Built!" echoed Horace feebly.
"I tell you, sir, I saw it with my own eyes driving to the station thismorning; my coachman and footman saw it; my wife saw it--damn it, sir,we _all_ saw it!"
Then Horace understood. His indefatigable Jinnee had been at work again!Of course, for Fakrash it must have been what he would term "the easiestof affairs"--especially after a glance at the plans (and Ventimoreremembered that the Jinnee had surprised him at work upon them, and evenrequested to have them explained to him)--to dispense with contractorsand bricklayers and carpenters, and construct the entire building in thecourse of a single night.
It was a generous and spirited action--but, particularly now that theoriginal designs had been found faulty and rejected, it placed theunfortunate architect in a most invidious position.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Wackerbath, with elaborate irony, "I presume itis you whom I have to thank for improving my land by erecting thisprecious palace on it?"
"I--I----" began Horace, utterly broken down; and then he saw, withemotions that may be imagined, the Jinnee himself, in his green robes,standing immediately behind Mr. Wackerbath.
"Greeting to you," said Fakrash, coming forward with his smile ofamiable cunning. "If I mistake not," he added, addressing the startledestate agent, who had jumped visibly, "thou art the merchant for whom myson here," and he laid a hand on Horace's shrinking shoulder, "undertookto construct a mansion?"
"I am," said Mr. Wackerbath, in some mystification. "Have I the pleasureof addressing Mr. Ventimore, senior?"
"No, no," put in Horace; "no relation. He's a sort of informal partner."
"Hast thou not found him an architect of divine gifts?" inquired theJinnee, beaming with pride. "Is not the palace that he hath raised forthee by his transcendent accomplishments a marvel of beauty andstateliness, and one that Sultans might envy?"
"No, sir!" shouted the infuriated Mr. Wackerbath; "since you ask myopinion, it's nothing of the sort! It's a ridiculous tom-fool crossbetween the palm-house at Kew and the Brighton Pavilion! There's nobilliard-room, and not a decent bedroom in the house. I've been all overit, so I ought to know; and as for drainage, there isn't a sign of it.And he has the brass--ah, I should say, the unblushing effrontery--tocall that a country house!"
Horace's dismay was curiously shot with relief. The Jinnee, who wascertainly very far from being a genius except by courtesy, had taken itupon himself to erect the palace according to his own notions of Arabiandomestic luxury--and Horace, taught by bitter experience, couldsympathise to some extent with his unfortunate client. On the otherhand, it was balm to his smarting self-respect to find that it was nothis own plans, after all, which had been found so preposterous; and, bysome obscure mental process, which I do not propose to explain, hebecame reconciled, and almost grateful, to the officious Fakrash. Andthen, too, he was _his_ Jinnee, and Horace had no intention of lettinghim be bullied by an outsider.
"Let me explain, Mr. Wackerbath," he said. "Personally I've had nothingto do with this. This gentleman, wishing to spare me the trouble, hastaken upon himself to build your house for you, without consultingeither of us, and, from what I know of his powers in the direction, I'veno doubt that--that it's a devilish fine place, in its way. Anyhow, wemake no charge for it--he presents it to you as a fr
ee gift. Why notaccept it as such and make the best of it?"
"Make the best of it?" stormed Mr. Wackerbath. "Stand by and see thebest site in three counties defaced by a jimcrack Moorish nightmare likethat! Why, they'll call it 'Wackerbath's Folly,' sir. I shall be thelaughing-stock of the neighbourhood. I can't live in the beastlybuilding. I couldn't afford to keep it up, and I won't have it cumberingmy land. Do you hear? _I won't!_ I'll go to law, cost me what it may,and compel you and your Arabian friends there to pull the thing down.I'll take the case up to the House of Lords, if necessary, and fight youas long as I can stand!"
"As long as thou canst stand!" repeated Fakrash, gently. "That is a longtime truly, O thou litigious one!... On all fours, ungrateful dog thatthou art!" he cried, with an abrupt and entire change of manner, "andcrawl henceforth for the remainder of thy days. I, Fakrash-el-Aamash,command thee!"
It was both painful and grotesque to see the portly and intenselyrespectable Mr. Wackerbath suddenly drop forward on his hands whiledesperately striving to preserve his dignity. "How dare you, sir?" healmost barked, "how _dare_ you, I say? Are you aware that I could summonyou for this? Let me up. I _insist_ upon getting up!"
"O contemptible in aspect!" replied the Jinnee, throwing open the door."Begone to thy kennel."
"I won't! I can't!" whimpered the unhappy man. "How do you expectme--me!--to cross Westminster Bridge on all fours? What will theofficials think at Waterloo, where I have been known and respected foryears? How am I to face my family in--in this position? Do, for mercy'ssake, let me get up!"
Horace had been too shocked and startled to speak before, but nowhumanity, coupled with disgust for the Jinnee's high-handed methods,compelled him to interfere. "Mr. Fakrash," he said, "this has gone farenough. Unless you stop tormenting this unfortunate gentleman, I've donewith you."
"Never," said Fakrash. "He hath dared to abuse my palace, which is fartoo sumptuous a dwelling for such a son of a burnt dog as he. Therefore,I will make his abode to be in the dust for ever."
"But I _don't_ find fault," yelped poor Mr. Wackerbath. "You--youentirely misunderstood the--the few comments I ventured to make. It's acapital mansion, handsome, and yet 'homey,' too. I'll never say anotherword against it. I'll--yes, I'll _live_ in it--if only you'll let meup?"
"Do as he asks you," said Horace to the Jinnee, "or I swear I'll neverspeak to you again."
"Thou art the arbiter of this matter," was the reply. "And if I yield,it is at thy intercession, and not his. Rise then," he said to thehumiliated client; "depart, and show us the breadth of thy shoulders."
It was this precise moment which Beevor, who was probably unable torestrain his curiosity any longer, chose to re-enter the room. "Oh,Ventimore," he began, "did I leave my----?... I beg your pardon. Ithought you were alone again."
"Don't go, sir," said Mr. Wackerbath, as he scrambled awkwardly to hisfeet, his usually florid face mottled in grey and lilac. "I--I shouldlike you to know that, after talking things quietly over with yourfriend Mr. Ventimore and his partner here, I am thoroughly convincedthat my objections were quite untenable. I retract all I said.The house is--ah--admirably planned: _most_ convenient, roomy,and--ah--unconventional. The--the entire freedom from all sanitaryappliances is a particular recommendation. In short, I am more thansatisfied. Pray forget anything I may have said which might be taken toimply the contrary.... Gentlemen, good afternoon!"
He bowed himself past the Jinnee in a state of deference andapprehension, and was heard stumbling down the staircase. Horace hardlydared to meet Beevor's eyes, which were fixed upon the green-turbanedJinnee, as he stood apart in dreamy abstraction, smiling placidly tohimself.
"I say," Beevor said to Horace, at last, in an undertone, "you nevertold me you had gone into partnership."
"He's not a regular partner," whispered Ventimore; "he does odd thingsfor me occasionally, that's all."
"He soon managed to smooth your client down," remarked Beevor.
"Yes," said Horace; "he's an Oriental, you see, and, he has a--a verypersuasive manner. Would you like to be introduced?"
"If it's all the same to you," replied Beevor, still below his voice,"I'd rather be excused. To tell you the truth, old fellow, I don'taltogether fancy the looks of him, and it's my opinion," he added, "thatthe less you have to do with him the better. He strikes me as awrong'un, old man."
"No, no," said Horace; "eccentric, that's all--you don't understandhim."
"Receive news!" began the Jinnee, after Beevor, with suspicion anddisapproval evident even on his back and shoulders, had retreated tohis own room, "Suleyman, the son of Daood, sleeps with his fathers."
"I know," retorted Horace, whose nerves were unequal to much referenceto Solomon just then. "So does Queen Anne."
"I have not heard of her. But art thou not astounded, then, by mytidings?"
"I have matters nearer home to think about," said Horace, dryly. "I mustsay, Mr. Fakrash, you have landed me in a pretty mess!"
"Explain thyself more fully, for I comprehend thee not."
"Why on earth," Horace groaned, "couldn't you let me build that house myown way?"
"Did I not hear thee with my own ears lament thy inability to performthe task? Thereupon, I determined that no disgrace should fall upon theeby reason of such incompetence, since I myself would erect a palace sosplendid that it should cause thy name to live for ever. And, behold, itis done."
"It is," said Horace. "And so am I. I don't want to reproach you. Iquite feel that you have acted with the best intentions; but, oh, hangit all! _can't_ you see that you've absolutely wrecked my career as anarchitect?"
"That is a thing that cannot be," returned the Jinnee, "seeing that thouhast all the credit."
"The credit! This is England, not Arabia. What credit can I gain frombeing supposed to be the architect of an Oriental pavilion, which mightbe all very well for Haroun-al-Raschid, but I can assure you ispreposterous as a home for an average Briton?"
"Yet that overfed hound," remarked the Jinnee, "expressed muchgratification therewith."
"Naturally, after he had found that he could not give a candid opinionexcept on all-fours. A valuable testimonial, that! And how do yousuppose I can take his money? No, Mr. Fakrash, if I have to go onall-fours myself for it, I must say, and I will say, that you've made amost frightful muddle of it!"
"Acquaint me with thy wishes," said Fakrash, a little abashed, "for thouknowest that I can refuse thee naught."
"Then," said Horace, boldly, "couldn't you remove that palace--dissipateit into space or something?"
"Verily," said the Jinnee, in an aggravated tone, "to do good acts untosuch as thee is but wasted time, for thou givest me no peace till theyare undone!"
"This is the last time," urged Horace; "I promise never to ask you foranything again."
"Not for the first time hast thou made such a promise," said Fakrash."And save for the magnitude of thy service unto me, I would not hearkento this caprice of thine, nor wilt thou find me so indulgent on anotheroccasion. But for this once"--and he muttered some words and made asweeping gesture with his right hand--"thy desire is granted unto thee.Of the palace and all that is therein there remaineth no trace!"
"Another surprise for poor old Wackerbath," thought Horace, "but apleasant one this time. My dear Mr. Fakrash," he said aloud, "I reallycan't say how grateful I am to you. And now--I hate bothering you likethis, but if you _could_ manage to look in on Professor Futvoye----"
"What!" cried the Jinnee, "yet another request? Already!"
"Well, you promised you'd do that before, you know!" said Horace.
"For that matter," remarked Fakrash, "I have already fulfilled mypromise."
"You have?" Horace exclaimed. "And does he believe now that it's alltrue about that bottle?"
"When I left him," answered the Jinnee, "all his doubts were removed."
"By Jove, you _are_ a trump!" cried Horace, only too glad to be able tocommend with sincerity. "And do you think, if I went to him now, Ishould find
him the same as usual?"
"Nay," said Fakrash, with his weak and yet inscrutable smile, "that ismore than I can promise thee."
"But why?" asked Horace, "if he knows all?"
There was the oddest expression in the Jinnee's furtive eyes: a kind ofelfin mischief combined with a sense of wrong-doing, like a naughtychild whose palate is still reminiscent of illicit jam. "Because," hereplied, with a sound between a giggle and a chuckle, "because, in orderto overcome his unbelief, it was necessary to transform him into aone-eyed mule of hideous appearance."
"_What!_" cried Horace. But, whether to avoid thanks or explanations,the Jinnee had disappeared with his customary abruptness.
"Fakrash!" shouted Horace, "Mr. Fakrash! Come back! Do you hear? I_must_ speak to you!" There was no answer; the Jinnee might be well onhis way to Lake Chad, or Jericho, by that time--he was certainly farenough from Great Cloister Street.
Horace sat down at his drawing-table, and, his head buried in his hands,tried to think out this latest complication. Fakrash had transformedProfessor Futvoye into a one-eyed mule. It would have seemed incredible,almost unthinkable, once, but so many impossibilities had happened toHorace of late that one more made little or no strain upon hiscredulity.
What he felt chiefly was the new barrier that this event must raisebetween himself and Sylvia; to do him justice, the mere fact that thefather of his _fiancee_ was a mule did not lessen his ardour in theslightest. Even if he had felt no personal responsibility for thecalamity, he loved Sylvia far too well to be deterred by it, and fewfamily cupboards are without a skeleton of some sort.
With courage and the determination to look only on the bright side ofthings, almost any domestic drawback can be lived down.
But the real point, as he instantly recognised, was whether in thechanged condition of circumstances Sylvia would consent to marry _him_.Might she not, after the experiences of that abominable dinner of histhe night before, connect him in some way with her poor father'stransformation? She might even suspect him of employing this means ofcompelling the Professor to renew their engagement; and, indeed, Horacewas by no means certain himself that the Jinnee might not have actedfrom some muddle-headed motive of this kind. It was likely enough thatthe Professor, after learning the truth, should have refused to allowhis daughter to marry the _protege_ of so dubious a patron, and thatFakrash had then resorted to pressure.
In any case, Ventimore knew Sylvia well enough to feel sure that pridewould steel her heart against him so long as this obstacle remained.
It would be unseemly to set down here all that Horace said and thoughtof the person who had brought all this upon them, but after some wildand futile raving he became calm enough to recognise that his properplace was by Sylvia's side. Perhaps he ought to have told her at first,and then she would have been less unprepared for this--and yet how couldhe trouble her mind so long as he could cling to the hope that theJinnee would cease to interfere?
But now he could be silent no longer; naturally the prospect of callingat Cottesmore Gardens just then was anything but agreeable, but he feltit would be cowardly to keep away.
Besides, he could cheer them up; he could bring with him a message ofhope. No doubt they believed that the Professor's transformation wouldbe permanent--a harrowing prospect for so united a family; but,fortunately, Horace would be able to reassure them on this point.
Fakrash had always revoked his previous performances as soon as he couldbe brought to understand their fatuity--and Ventimore would take goodcare that he revoked this.
Nevertheless, it was with a sinking heart and an unsteady hand that hepulled the visitors' bell at the Futvoyes' house that afternoon, for heneither knew in what state he should find that afflicted family, nor howthey would regard his intrusion at such a time.