tongue clicked with satisfaction. "Isn't he, though--isn't he?" he
said, after a moment. His lips, pressed together, curled in with a trick
they had when he was thinking hard, planning things.

The other forbore to question. The notable figure had instantly arrested
his attention, and held it until it passed from view.

"Isn't he, though, Yankee?" Dicky repeated, and pressed a knuckle into
the other's waistcoat.

"Isn't he what?"

"Isn't he bully--in your own language?"

"In figure; but I couldn't see his face distinctly."

"You'll see that presently. You could cut a whole Egyptian Ministry out
of that face, and have enough left for an American president or the head
of the Salvation Army. In all the years I've spent here I've never seen
one that could compare with him in nature, character, and force. A few
like him in Egypt, and there'd be no need for the money-barbers of
Europe."

"He seems an ooster here--you know him?"

"Do I!" Dicky paused and squinted up at the tall Southerner. "What do
you suppose I brought you out from your Consulate for to see--the view
from Ebn Mahmoud? And you call yourself a cute Yankee?"

"I'm no more a Yankee than you are, as I've told you before," answered