ange with each other the parting
salute,--to speak the "Peace be with you!" And yet there was something
that caused them to linger in each other's proximity. Their new-made
captives could tell this, though ignorant of what it might be.

It was something that had yet to be settled between the two sheiks, who
did not appear at this moment of leave-taking to entertain for each
other any very cordial sentiment of friendship.

Could their thoughts have found expression in English words, they would
have taken shape somewhat as follows:--

"That lubberly nigger," (we are pursuing the train of reflections that
passed through the mind of the Arab sheik,) "old Nick burn him!--thinks
I've got more than my share of this lucky windfall. He wants these boys
bad,--I know that. The Sultan of Timbuctoo has given him a commission to
procure _white slaves_,--that's clear; and _boy slaves_ if he
can,--that's equally certain. This lot would suit him to a T. I can tell
that he don't care much for the old salt he has tricked me out of by his
superior skill at that silly game of helga. No; His Majesty of the
mud-walled city don't want such as him. It's boys he's after,--as can
wait smartly at his royal table, and give _eclat_ to his ceremonial
entertainments. Well, he can have these _three at a price_."

"Ay, but a big price," continued the cunning old trafficker in human
flesh, after a short reflection, "a wopping big price. The togs we've
stripped from them were no common clothing. Good broadcloth in their
jackets, and bullion bands on their caps. They must be the sons of great
sheiks. At Wedmoon the old Jew will redeem them. So, too, the merchants
at Suse; or maybe I had best take them on to Mogador, where the consul
of their country will come down handsomely for such as they. Yes, that's
the trick!"

At this parting scene the thoughts of Fatima's husband were equally
occupied with trading speculations, in which he was assisted by the
amiable Fatima herself.

Translated also into English, they would have read as follows:--

"The Sultan would give threescore of his best blacks for those three
tripe-colored brats."

"I know it, Fatty dear; he's told me so himself."

"Then why not get them, and bring 'em along?"

"Ah, that's easy to say. How can I? You know they belong to the old Arab
by right,--at least, he claims them, though not very fairly, for if we
hadn't come up in good time they would have taken him instead of his
taking th