of merry extravagance. Zanzibar is no parson's paradise--nor the
center of much high society. It reeks of unsavory history as well as
of spices. But it has its charms, and the Arabs love it.

It had Fred Oakes so interested that he had forgotten his
concertina--his one possession saved from shipwreck, for which he had
offered to fight the whole of Zanzibar one-handed rather than have it
burned.

("Damnation! it has silver reeds--it's an English top-hole one--a
wonder!")

So the doctors who are kind men in the main disinfected it twice, once
on the French liner that picked us out of the Bundesrath's boat, and
again in Zanzibar; and with the stench of lord-knew-what zealous
chemical upon it he had let it lie unused while he picked up Kiswahili
and talked by the hour to a toothless, wrinkled very black man with a
touch of Arab in his breeding, and a deal of it in his brimstone
vocabulary.

Presently Fred came over and joined us, dancing across the wide red
floor with the skirts of his gown outspread like a ballet
dancer's--ridiculous and perfectly aware of it.

"Monty, you're rich! We're all made men! We're all rich! Let's spend
money! Let's send for catalogues and order things!"

Monty declined to take fire. It was I, latest to join the partnership
and much the least affluent, who bit.