[_Astonished, and with a touch of hauteur._] H'm! That's very obliging of you! [_Looking round._] Where are those waiter-fellows?
[_He goes up beyond the arch and beckons; the FIRST and SECOND WAITERS come in, and he explains in dumb show that he wants another cover laid. One waiter rearranges the chairs, the other brings plate and glasses. MR. WACKERBATH then seems to find that the table is too near the balcony, and orders it to be moved down, which is done under his instructions._
[_As MR. WACKERBATH goes up to find the waiters, to her mother, in an undertone._] Mother, what is the matter with Mr. Pringle? He seems quite--quite _odd_.
I can't make him out at all, my dear. He seems to be offended with us--and for no reason that _I_ can see.
[_They continue the conversation in dumb show, while the PROFESSOR, on a chair, is talking to MRS. WACKERBATH on the sofa on the left._
[_In an undertone to HORACE, as they stand by the fireplace on the right._] I suppose you know _why_ I've accepted that fellow's hospitality?
Not in the least--but I hope you don't mean to abuse it.
I mean to show up the lot of you! I'm going to be the skeleton at your feast.
It's too sickening! All of 'em grovelling and cringing to you because they're in a blue funk of that old Fakrash! You've managed to get him under control again!
[_With much earnestness._] Now, my dear fellow--I'll explain everything when we're alone. But, for Heaven's sake, take my advice and keep quiet _here_!
[_Roughly._] I'm not afraid of you, or your Jinnee either--he rather _took_ to me! And if the Futvoyes choose to drop me like this, I'm not going to take it lying down--I can make _them_ look pretty foolish!
You'll be the only one to look foolish--upon my honour, you will!
We'll see about that! You can't shut _my_ mouth!
[_The WAITERS having gone out, now comes down and addresses MRS. FUTVOYE._] They tell me we shall have to wait a few minutes longer--but they'll be as quick as they can.
Oh, Samuel, the Professor has just been telling me about such an extraordinary affair that happened this morning--in his own study! Have you heard?
[_HORACE starts; PRINGLE prepares to assume the offensive._
Not a word--not a word. What was it, Futvoye? Nothing, I hope, of--ah--an unpleasant nature!