Part 20 (2/2)
”Why on earth,” Horace groaned, ”couldn't you let me build that house my own way?”
”Did I not hear thee with my own ears lament thy inability to perform the task? Thereupon, I determined that no disgrace should fall upon thee by reason of such incompetence, since I myself would erect a palace so splendid that it should cause thy name to live for ever. And, behold, it is done.”
”It is,” said Horace. ”And so am I. I don't want to reproach you. I quite feel that you have acted with the best intentions; but, oh, hang it all! _can't_ you see that you've absolutely wrecked my career as an architect?”
”That is a thing that cannot be,” returned the Jinnee, ”seeing that thou hast all the credit.”
”The credit! This is England, not Arabia. What credit can I gain from being supposed to be the architect of an Oriental pavilion, which might be all very well for Haroun-al-Raschid, but I can a.s.sure you is preposterous as a home for an average Briton?”
”Yet that overfed hound,” remarked the Jinnee, ”expressed much gratification therewith.”
”Naturally, after he had found that he could not give a candid opinion except on all-fours. A valuable testimonial, that! And how do you suppose I can take his money? No, Mr. Fakrash, if I have to go on all-fours myself for it, I must say, and I will say, that you've made a most frightful muddle of it!”
”Acquaint me with thy wishes,” said Fakrash, a little abashed, ”for thou knowest that I can refuse thee naught.”
”Then,” said Horace, boldly, ”couldn't you remove that palace--dissipate it into s.p.a.ce or something?”
”Verily,” said the Jinnee, in an aggravated tone, ”to do good acts unto such as thee is but wasted time, for thou givest me no peace till they are undone!”
”This is the last time,” urged Horace; ”I promise never to ask you for anything 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 hearken to this caprice of thine, nor wilt thou find me so indulgent on another occasion. But for this once”--and he muttered some words and made a sweeping 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 a pleasant one this time. My dear Mr. Fakrash,” he said aloud, ”I really can't say how grateful I am to you. And now--I hate bothering you like this, 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 my promise.”
”You have?” Horace exclaimed. ”And does he believe now that it's all true 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 to commend with sincerity. ”And do you think, if I went to him now, I should find him the same as usual?”
”Nay,” said Fakrash, with his weak and yet inscrutable smile, ”that is more 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 of elfin mischief combined with a sense of wrong-doing, like a naughty child whose palate is still reminiscent of illicit jam. ”Because,” he replied, with a sound between a giggle and a chuckle, ”because, in order to overcome his unbelief, it was necessary to transform him into a one-eyed mule of hideous appearance.”
”_What!_” cried Horace. But, whether to avoid thanks or explanations, the Jinnee had disappeared with his customary abruptness.
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