"Then thou hast not yet received the gifts which I commanded should be delivered at thy dwelling-place?"
"Oh, indeed I have!" replied Horace; "and—and I really don't know how to thank you for them."
"A few trifling presents," answered the Jinnee, "and by no means suited to thy dignity—yet the best in my power to bestow upon thee for the time being."
"My dear sir, they simply overwhelm me with their magnificence! They're beyond all price, and—and I've no idea what to do with such a superabundance."
"A superfluity of good things is good," was the Jinnee's sententious reply.
"Not in my particular case. I—I quite feel your goodness and generosity; but, indeed, as I told you before, it's really impossible for me to accept any such reward."
Fakrash's brows contracted slightly. "How sayest thou that it is impossible—seeing that these things are already in thy possession?"
"I know," said Horace; "but—you won't be offended if I speak quite plainly?"
"Art thou not even as a son to me, and can I be angered at any words of thine?"
"Well," said Horace, with sudden hope, "honestly, then, I would very much rather—if you're sure you don't mind—that you would take them all back again."