ving a little
island of moisture on the top of his head untouched. After a moment, he
gained breath and settled down a little. Then he burst out:

"Are you coming to my party, O effendi?
There'll be high jinks, there'll be welcome, there'll be room;
For to-morrow we are pulling stakes for Shendy.
Are you coming to my party, O Nahoum?"

"Say, I guess that's pretty good on the spur of the moment," he wheezed,
and, taking his inseparable note book from his pocket, wrote the
impromptu down. "I guess She'll like that-it rings spontaneous. She'll
be tickled, tickled to death, when she knows what's behind it." He
repeated it with gusto. "She'll dote on it," he added--the person to
whom he referred being the sister of the American Consul, the little
widow, "cute as she can be," of whom he had written to Hylda in the
letter which had brought a crisis in her life. As he returned the
note-book to his pocket a door opened. Mahommed Hassan slid forward into
the room, and stood still, impassive and gloomy. Lacey beckoned, and
said grotesquely:

"'Come hither, come hither, my little daughter,
And do not tremble so!'"

A sort of scornful patience was in Mahommed's look, but he came nearer
and waited.

"Squat on the ground, and smile a smile of mirth, Mahommed," Lacey said
riotously. "'For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May!'"

Mahommed's face grew resentful. "O effendi, shall the camel-driver laugh
when the camels are lost in the khamsin and the water-bottle is empty?"

"Certainly not, O son of the spreading palm; but this is not a desert,
nor a gaudy caravan. This is a feast of all angels. This is the day when
Nahoum the Nefarious is to be buckled up like a belt, and ridden in a
ring. Where is the Saadat?"

"He is gone, effendi! Like a mist on the face of the running water, so
was his face; like eyes that did not see, so was his look. 'Peace be to
thee, Mahommed, thou art faithful as Zaida,' he said, and he mounted and
rode into the desert. I ran after till he was come to the edge of the
desert; but he sent me back, saying that I must wait for thee; and this
word I was to say, that Prince Kaid had turned his face darkly from him,
and that the finger of Sharif--"

"That fanatical old quack--Harrik's friend!"

"--that the finger of Sharif was on his pulse; but the end of all was in
the hands of God."

"Oh yes, exactly, the finger of Sharif on his pulse! The old stor