here, and you don't get a thrill."

"The peace of Europe--Abdalla has something to do with that?"

"Multiply the crowd here a thousand times as much, and that's what he
could represent in one day. Give him a month, and every man in Egypt
would be collecting his own taxes where he could find 'em. Abdalla there
could be prophet and patriot to-morrow, and so he will be soon, and to
evil ends, if things don't take a turn. That Egyptian-Arab has a tongue,
he has brains, he has sorrow, he loved Noor-ala-Noor. Give a man the
egotism of grief, and eloquence, and popularity, and he'll cut as sharp
as the khamsin wind. The dust he'll raise will blind more eyes than you
can see in a day's march, Yankee. You may take my word for it."

Renshaw looked at Dicky thoughtfully. "You're wasting your life here.
You'll get nothing out of it. You're a great man, Donovan Pasha, but
others'll reap where you sowed."

Dicky laughed softly. "I've had more fun for my money than most men of
my height and hair--" he stroked his beardless chin humorously. "And the
best is to come, Yankee. This show is cracking. The audience are going
to rush it."

Renshaw laid a hand on his shoulder. "Pasha, to tell you God's truth, I
wouldn't have missed this for anything; but what I can't make out is, why
you brought me here. You don't do things like that for nothing. You bet
you don't. You'd not put another man in danger, unless he was going to
get something out of it, or somebody was. It looks so damned useless.
You've done your little job by your lonesome, anyhow. I was no use."