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For the throng was denser than ever; the people surged and swayed in serried ranks behind the City police, and gazed with a wonder and awe that for once seemed to have entirely silenced the Cockney instinct of persiflage. "For what else but to do thee honour?" answered Fakrash. "What bosh!" said Horace. "They mistake me for the Shah or somebody and no wonder, in this get-up."
On the other hand, it was balm to his smarting self-respect to find that it was not his own plans, after all, which had been found so preposterous; and, by some obscure mental process, which I do not propose to explain, he became reconciled, and almost grateful, to the officious Fakrash. And then, too, he was his Jinnee, and Horace had no intention of letting him be bullied by an outsider.
"All I know is that I've never been accustomed to being rich, and I'd rather get used to it gradually, and be able to feel that I owed it, as far as possible, to my own exertions. For, as I needn't tell you, Mr. Fakrash, riches alone don't make any fellow happy.
"Did I not foresee that thou wouldst deal crookedly? Restore unto me my bottle!" "I'll go and get it at once," said Horace; "I shan't be five minutes." And he prepared to go. "Thou shalt not leave this house," cried Fakrash, "for I perceive plainly that this is but a device of thine to escape and betray me to the Press Devil!"
Fakrash had learnt his lesson: he was not likely to interfere again in human affairs; he might find his way back to the Palace of the Mountain of the Clouds and end his days there, in peaceful enjoyment of the society of such of the Jinn as might still survive unbottled.
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!"
"Heaven help us both!" groaned Ventimore. "If I could only see the right thing to do. Look here, Mr. Fakrash," he added, "this is a matter that requires consideration. Will you relieve us of your presence for a short time, while we talk it over?" "With all my heart," said the Jinnee, in the most obliging manner in the world, and vanished instantly.
"Well, do it and I'll swear to seal you up in the bottle exactly as if you had never been out of it, and pitch you into the deepest part of the Thames, where no one will ever disturb you." "First produce the bottle, then," said Fakrash, "for I cannot believe but that thou hast some lurking guile in thy heart." "I'll ring for my landlady and have the bottle brought up," said Horace.
"You've got the whip-hand of me," he said, "and I may as well give in. There's a transcript inside my blotting-case it's the only copy I've made." Fakrash found the paper, which he rubbed into invisibility between his palms, as any ordinary conjurer might do.
Seyf, the son of the King of Egypt, afterwards fell desperately in love with Bedeea, but she and her grandmother both declared that between mankind and the Jann there could be no agreement. "And Seyf was a King's son!" commented Horace. "I needn't alarm myself. She wouldn't be likely to have anything to say to me. It's just as I told Fakrash."
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