"Two such chilabi should surely live like princes," he answered without
a smile. If he had dared say that and smile we would have struck
him, and Monty might have been alive to-day. But he seemed to know
his place, although he looked at us down his nose again in shrewd
appraisal.

Will took out tobacco and rolled what in the innocence of his Yankee
heart he believed was a cigarette. I produced and lit what he
contemptuously called a "boughten cigaroot"--Turkish Regie, with
the scent of aboriginal ambrosia. The Zeitoonli took the hint.

"Yarim sa' at," he said. "Korkakma!"

"Meanin'?" demanded Will.

"In half an hour. Do not be afraid!" said he.

"Before I grow afraid of you," Will retorted, "you'll need your friends
along, and they'll need knives!"

The Zeitoonli bowed, laid a finger on his eye again, smiled and backed
away. But he did not leave the room. He went back to the end-wall
against which he had sat before, and although he did not stare at
us the intention not to let us out of sight seemed pretty obvious.

"That half-hour stuff smacked rather of a threat," said Will. "Suppose
we call the bluff, and keep him waiting. What do you say if we go
and dine at the hotel?"

But in the raw enthusiasm of entering new quarters we had made up