The Brass Bottle: A Farcical Fantastic Play in Four Acts

Pringle

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

Sylvia

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.

    [She goes out.

Pringle

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

Horace

[Still at door, looking after Sylvia.] A little over six weeks.

Pringle

And I have known her for as many years!

Horace

[Closing door, and coming towards him.] Have you, though? I noticed the Professor was uncommonly cordial to you. Look here, are you doing anything this evening?

Pringle

Er – no. That is, nothing particular. Why?

Horace

Because it would be friendly of you if you'd come and dine here. They're coming, you know.

Pringle

I know. [After a moment's hesitation.] Thanks, I don't mind if I do.

Horace

Capital! I'm sure if any one can keep the old man in a good humour, you can.

Pringle

[Sourly.] I see. You want me to engage him in conversation and leave you free to carry on your flirtation with Miss Futvoye unobserved?

Horace

Not quite that. There's nothing underhand about it. We're engaged, you know.

Pringle

Engaged! [After a pause.] And how long have you been that?

Horace

Only since the day before yesterday.

Pringle

[Blankly.] Oh! [He walks down to window.] I congratulate you; er – heartily, of course. [Looking out of window.] And – and when do you think of being married?

Horace

It's no use thinking of that, at present. Not till the Professor takes a rosier view of my prospects, at all events. But if, like a good fellow, you could put in a word for me, it would give me no end of a leg up!

Pringle

[Dully, with his face still averted.] You don't seem to realise what you're asking!

Horace

[Suddenly understanding, with compunction.] My dear chap! [He puts both his hands on Pringle's shoulders.] What a selfish brute I've been not to see! I am sorry!

Pringle

[Stiffly.] As a matter of fact, I'd quite made up my mind to propose to her – as soon as I'd got those country jobs off my mind. And now I find you've cut in before me!

Horace

Well, it's straight of you to tell me. I suppose you'd rather come and dine some other evening? If so —

Pringle

No. A promise is a promise. I'll come. Mind you, I don't pretend it won't be an effort – but I'll see what I can do for you.

Horace

[Gratefully.] You are a good chap, Pringle! – one of the best! Though, really, after what you've told me, I hardly like —

Pringle

Not another word. Anything I can say on your behalf – without too wide a departure from strict accuracy – I'll say with pleasure. [Going up to door.] Eight o'clock's the hour, isn't it? All right. [He goes out.]

    [Horace makes a movement towards the fireplace, as if to ring the bell. Then his eye is caught by the brass bottle, which is standing in the centre of the room. He stops, looks at his watch, and decides that he has time to open the bottle. He examines the cap on its neck, then goes to sideboard and takes from it a heavy paper-weight and a champagne-opener, returns to chair on right of table and sits, holding the bottle between his knees. Using the champagne-opener as a chisel, and the paper-weight as hammer, he proceeds to chip away the deposit round the cap, whistling an air from a musical comedy as he works.

Horace

[To himself.] I've loosened it. [He seizes the cap and tries to screw it off.] It's giving!