F. Anstey - The Brass Bottle - A Farcical Fantastic Play in Four Acts

[ Going to Sylvia, who is sympathetically distressed. ] Couldn't get one of 'em. They all fetched record prices.

[ Violently. ] Upon my soul!.. Pringle, you were right! I ought to have employed a broker! [ To Horace.] So you've come back with absolutely nothing ?

Well, no. I did manage to get one thing.

I knew you would!

[ To Horace.] You did? But I understood you to say just now – !

This was a little flutter on my own account. I thought I'd stick the sale out, do you see; and near the end there was an extra lot put up – it wasn't in the catalogue. [ The Professor makes an exclamation of angry disgust. ] Well, it was being passed round for us to look at – and nobody seemed to think much of it. But it struck me, somehow, it might be a dark horse, so I made a bid – and got it for only a sovereign!

Pah!

But you haven't told us yet what it is .

Haven't I? Oh, well, it's a sort of metal jar. Brass, the auctioneer said it was.

Tchah! Some modern bazaar trash!

It doesn't look modern. I left it downstairs to be cleaned. [ Going to door right of fireplace. ] I'll go and bring it up.

[ Furious. ] I've no patience with the fellow! Squandering his sovereigns like this on worthless rubbish!

Don't be so fractious, Anthony! For all you can tell, he may have picked up a treasure.

[ Grimly. ] He may , Sophia. On the other hand, he may not . Which, on the whole, is rather more probable.

[ Bringing the bottle down to right of table. ] Here it is! [ The others – except the Professor, who remains aloof – gather round and examine it in dubious silence. ] It's not much to look at.

Very dusty! [ Wipes his hand after touching the bottle. ] And you gave a sovereign for this, Ventimore, eh? H'm! Dear me!

It may look better when it's had a good scrubbing.

Scrubbing, my dear! It will have to be scraped first!

Yes – looks as if it had been dragged up from the bottom of the sea, doesn't it? I've an idea it may be worth something. I should like to have your opinion, Professor.

[ After a glance at it. ] My opinion is that you might just as well have flung your sovereign into the gutter!

I admit it was speculative – but it may turn out a winner. It's rather odd it should be so tightly sealed up.

[ With more interest. ] Sealed up, is it? [ Coming down and looking at it more carefully. ] H'm – the form is certainly antique. It's wonderful what they can do in Birmingham!

I really think it may have something inside it. It's not so very heavy, and yet – [ tapping it ] – it doesn't sound quite as if it were empty.

It might contain something. I think it most unlikely – but still, it might .

[ Laughing. ] You don't mean it might be like that jar the Fisherman found in "The Arabian Nights," with a Genius inside it?

I did not mean anything so frivolous, my dear. And, if you must quote "The Arabian Nights," it's as well to remember in future that the more correct term is not "Genius," but "Jinnee." Singular, Jinnee – plural, Jinn.

I'll remember, dear. Singular, Jinn – plural, Jinnies.

[ Instructively. ] A name applied by Arab mythology to a race of aerial beings, created of the flame of fire, but capable of assuming human form and exercising supernatural powers.

Oh, do let's open it now and see what is inside!

Don't be childish, Sylvia, don't be childish! We've no time now for idle curiosity. If we're to dress and be back here by eight o'clock, we ought to start at once. [Mrs. Futvoye prepares to go and moves towards door. ] Good-bye, then, Ventimore, for the present. [ He gets his hat and stick. ] It is not to be an elaborate entertainment, I trust? A simple ordinary little dinner is all I require.

[ As he opens the door for Mrs. Futvoye.] I've tried to remember your tastes, Professor.

I hope you have succeeded. Good-bye, Pringle. Very glad to have run across you again. Let us see more of you in future.

[ Going to the door with him. ] You shall, Professor, you shall. [ Following Professor and Mrs. Futvoye out to landing. ] By the way, are you likely to be in next – ?

[ Turning as he comes down to her. ] I'm certain there must be something inside that jar. And if it's anything really interesting, father will be so frightfully pleased that he won't be disagreeable all the evening!

[ Ruefully. ] Ah, I'm afraid that's too much to look forward to.

[ Touching his arm with a little gesture of sympathy. ] You poor dear! You're not beginning to be nervous about your dinner, are you?

N – no. Not nervous exactly. Something might go wrong. Still, I hope there won't be much your father can find fault with.

I'm sure there won't! And if he does, why, we won't mind, will we? We shall be together, you know!

[ Putting his arm round her. ] That's what I've been thinking of all day!

Coming forward. ] Er – [Horace and Sylvia separate. ] Miss Sylvia – the Professor asked me to tell you —

I was just coming. [ Taking her parasol and moving to door, which Pringle has left open. ] Good-bye, Mr. Pringle. [ Stopping Horace and Pringle as they are about to see her down the stairs. ] No, you mustn't come down, either of you. [ To Horace, with an affectation of distance. ] Good-bye – Mr. Ventimore.

[ By the table. ] I should like to ask you, Ventimore, have you known Miss Futvoye long ?