[Returning with the bottle, which he sets down on the floor in front of the mantelpiece.] Here's your bottle! Got the stopper?
Fakrash.
[After some fumbling in his robes, finds the metal cap and gives it to Horace.] It is here. Now swear to me by the beard of Progress that thou wilt drop me into deep waters, even as thou hast promised!
Horace.
I swear it—by the beard of Progress—on whom be peace!... You step in, sir, and leave the rest to me.
Fakrash.
[As he raises his arms and moves towards the fireplace.] To escape into a bottle is pleasant!
Horace.
Fakrash.