Fakrash.
I am here for this very purpose. Let this learned man appear before me.
Pringle.
I won't keep you waiting long. [He goes up to the sliding-doors and calls.] Professor! If you will kindly step this way, Mr. Fakrash would be glad to see you.
[A pause. The Mule comes slowly on from the left side of the sliding doors.
Horace.
[Overwhelmed.] Great Heavens above!
Pringle.
[Trying to be polite and at his ease.] Er—how do you do, Professor? Sorry to see you looking so—so unlike yourself. [The Mule shows irritation; Pringle retreats nervously; then, in an undertone to Mrs. Futvoye.] He—he can't jump that sofa, can he?
Mrs. Futvoye.