Fakrash.
[Confidently.] I shall summon my Efreets to enclose me within the bottle and transport it to the Sea of El-Karkar, where I shall be undisturbed.
Horace.
[Slightly dashed for the moment.] Oh! is that the idea? [Catching at a straw.] But Efreets, eh? [Watching him keenly.] Are you quite sure you can trust 'em? You know what Efreets are! [With triumph, as Fakrash plucks at his beard uneasily.] Ah! I thought you did!
Fakrash.
Thinkest thou that they might betray me?
Horace.
They'd love it! And as soon as they got you safely corked up, what's to prevent them from handing you over to Progress? Progress won't put up with your little ways—you can't go about beheading architects in this country without paying for your fun. I expect you'd catch it devilish hot!
Fakrash.
[Falling on his knees in sudden terror.] Repentance, O Progress! I will not return to the like conduct ever! [He rises trembling.] Willingly will I depart from the world as it now is—for it hath ceased to be a pleasure-garden and become a place of desolation and horror!