Fakrash.
Didst thou not order me to assume such apparel as is worn in this city?
Horace.
I didn't say on the 5th of November! However, you saw him. Did you get your seal back?
Fakrash.
Nay, for the sage protested that he had mislaid it!
Horace.
Oh, well, never mind—it'll turn up in time. What I really want to know is whether you convinced him that you'd come out of the brass bottle?
Fakrash.
[Sombrely.] As to that I can tell thee naught. On hearing that I came from thee, he reviled me as a person of no reputation, and threatened to summon a certain constable and have me delivered into custody. Whereupon I took measures—[he smiles cunningly]—to ensure his silence.