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Oh, we know him, yes. As you do, it seems.
Pringle
I sublet a room in my offices to him. Rather a good arrangement for him, because he gets experience by looking after any little matters that I've no time to attend to.
Sylvia
[With suppressed resentment.] And isn't that rather a good arrangement for you?
Pringle
It works fairly well – as a rule. But when I returned from the country this afternoon I found he hadn't been near the office all day!
[He rises, takes Sylvia's parasol officiously, and places it in a corner, then returns.
Professor Futvoye
[To his wife, but speaking at Sylvia.] Not been near the office all day! I thought as much!
Sylvia
The reason why he wasn't able to help you, Mr. Pringle, is because he's been at an auction, bidding for things on father's account.
Professor Futvoye
I should have attended the sale myself but for an engagement to lecture at the Hieroglyphical on a recently inscribed cylinder.
Mrs. Futvoye
And – you'll hardly believe it, Mr. Pringle, – but, the moment the lecture was over, he hurried us off here to find out what Mr. Ventimore had got for him! It's really too ridiculous! As if his study wasn't littered up quite enough already!
Professor Futvoye
Women, my dear Pringle, can't understand the feelings of a collector. It's not every day, I can tell you, that a collection of such importance comes into the market.
Pringle
I didn't know Ventimore was an expert in such things. I thought you could get brokers to bid for you.
Professor Futvoye
Of course – of course. But I don't trust brokers – they know too much! And, as I gave Ventimore my own catalogue, with a tick against the lots I want and the limit I'm prepared to go, noted on the margin, he can't make any mistake.
Pringle
I suppose not. That is, if he's accustomed to auctions.
Professor Futvoye
What do you mean?
Pringle
Only that if you aren't, there's always a liability to lose your head in the excitement, and go beyond the margin. But I daresay Ventimore wouldn't do that.
Professor Futvoye
If he has! [He rises excitedly.] And he might – he might! With his recklessness about money, it's the very thing he would do! Letting me in for prices I can't afford! [Passionately.] No wonder he is in no hurry to show himself – no wonder!
Mrs. Futvoye
[Rising and attempting to pacify him.] Now, Anthony, there's nothing to work yourself up into a state for, at present. Do for goodness' sake wait till you hear all about it!
Professor Futvoye
[Resentfully.] It seems I shall have to wait, Sophia – but I'm tired of waiting here. [He goes to get his hat and stick.] And evidently he doesn't intend to —
[Turns, as the door opens and Horace Ventimore comes in briskly. Horace is a pleasant-looking young man, with a cheery and rather boyish manner; he comes down and greets the Futvoyes without seeing Pringle for the moment; Sylvia has risen, delighted at his arrival.
Horace
I say! This is jolly! [Shaking hands.] Wish I'd known you were coming on here after the lecture. [Pringle rises, and waits stiffly for recognition.] Warm work, wasn't it, Professor, lecturing on an afternoon like this? Do sit down. [Looks at table.] Haven't they given you any tea?
Professor Futvoye
[Irritably.] No, no, no. We want no tea. It's too late for tea. We merely looked in on our way home to —
Horace
[Sees Pringle.] And Pringle, too! [Pats him on shoulder.] How are you, old fellow? You been at the lecture, too?
Pringle
[With implied rebuke.] No, I've only just come round – as you weren't at the office, – to —
Horace
I've been engaged all day. Oh, by the bye, do you know Professor and Mrs. —
[Is about to introduce him.
Pringle
[Stiffly.] I am happy to say, my dear fellow, that I require no introduction. We are old friends.
Professor Futvoye
[Impatiently.] To come to the point, Ventimore, as we are rather pressed for time – about the sale? How did you get on, eh?
Horace
Oh, ah – the sale. [Producing catalogue from pocket.] Well, I did exactly as you told me.
Professor Futvoye
[Snatching catalogue from him.] Yes, yes. Let's go through it lot by lot. Lot 23, now. Did you get that?
Horace
No. Another fellow got that.
Professor Futvoye
[Annoyed.] Tssch! Well, – so long as you secured Lot 35. [Reading from catalogue.] "Copper bowl, engraved round rim with verse from Hafiz," you know. Come, you didn't miss that?
[Sylvia is listening anxiously.
Horace
I did, though. It was snapped up by a sportsman in the very worst hat I ever saw in my life. He got it for sixteen guineas.
Professor Futvoye
[Disgusted.] What? A rare example of early Persian work like that going for only sixteen guineas! I'd willingly have paid double the money!
Horace
But your limit was seven pound ten, sir! And you warned me not to exceed it.
Professor Futvoye
You should have used your own judgment, sir! Well, well, – which of the lots I marked did you get?
Horace
[Going to Sylvia, who is sympathetically distressed.] Couldn't get one of 'em. They all fetched record prices.
Professor Futvoye
[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?
Horace
Well, no. I did manage to get one thing.
Sylvia
I knew you would!
Professor Futvoye
[To Horace.] You did? But I understood you to say just now – !
Horace
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!
Professor Futvoye
Pah!
Sylvia
But you haven't told us yet what it is.
Horace
Haven't I? Oh, well, it's a sort of metal jar. Brass, the auctioneer said it was.
Professor Futvoye
Tchah! Some modern bazaar trash!
Horace
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.
[He goes out.
Professor Futvoye
[Furious.] I've no patience with the fellow! Squandering his sovereigns like this on worthless rubbish!
Mrs. Futvoye
Don't be so fractious, Anthony! For all you can tell, he may have picked up a treasure.
Professor Futvoye
[Grimly.] He may, Sophia. On the other hand, he may not. Which, on the whole, is rather more probable.
[He retires up to the fireplace as Horace returns, carrying a large metal bottle with a long neck and bulbous body, encrusted with a thick greenish-white deposit. Pringle closes the door for him after he has entered.
Horace
[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.
Pringle
