But you haven't told us yet what it is.
Horace.
Haven't I? Oh, well, it's a sort of metal jar. Brass, the auctioneer said it was.
Professor Futvoye.
Tchah! Some modern bazaar trash!
Horace.
It doesn't look modern. I left it downstairs to be cleaned. [Going to door right of fireplace.] I'll go and bring it up.
[He goes out.
Professor Futvoye.
[Furious.] I've no patience with the fellow! Squandering his sovereigns like this on worthless rubbish!