[About to rise.
Horace.
[Stopping him.] No, you don't! Just when he'll be turning in! You'll go about ten o'clock to-morrow morning, when he's had his breakfast—or you won't go at all!
Fakrash.
Be it so! I will restrain my impatience until the morrow. But the place of his dwelling?
Horace.
Wait a bit. I won't have him rattled. [Fakrash looks puzzled.] I mean, no popping up through the floor or down the chimney. You'll just walk quietly up to his front door, and ask to see him. Then you can explain who you are and what you want, and, if you're decently polite, I'm sure the Professor will give you back your property.
Fakrash.
All these instructions will I observe.
Horace.