Pringle.
Rats!—excuse the vulgarity!
Horace.
Hang it! You must have noticed something queer about him!
Pringle.
I have—and if he's the person you're relying on to remove the Professor's objections, I think the old gentleman should be warned against seeing him.
[He goes into his office and shuts the door; Horace returns to table, takes up the sheet on which he had been working, crumples it up, and flings it away.
Fakrash.
[Turns from window to Horace.] Receive news! Henceforth I shall cease to busy myself about thine affairs.
Horace.