Mr. Wackerbath.
I am, sir. And you, I presume, are Mr. Ventimore, senior?
Horace.
No, he isn't—he's no relation of mine!
Fakrash.
[To Mr. Wackerbath, proudly.] Is he not an architect of divine skill, and hath he not built thee a palace that might cause even the gall of a Sultan to burst with envy?
Mr. Wackerbath.
It very nearly made me burst, sir, I can tell you that!
Fakrash.
I marvel not, for verily it is a lordly dwelling for such as thou.