"He hungered. He ate. May his shadow increase," he drawled.
"For my part," retorted the Nubian, with an ill-natured scowl, "his shadow may wither and I shall not grieve. It is impossible to please him."
"His gold is good and hard and yellow and much," said the Arab, in a sort of sing-song.
"Add to that ill-got," replied the negro, "and I shall be an echo to your speech. Natamkin tells me that the lady weeps still, though no more a prisoner, and he took her forth into his whirling Babel town this morning. He has put a spell on her to deprive her of her gold."
"What matter if he shares it with his slaves?" demanded the Arab.
"I fear him," said the Nubian.
"I also," drawled the Arab. "But guard your idle tongue Uromi! He may be listening to us now."
The negro shuddered and made as if to hastily depart. But the Arab laughed, and he stopped looking both angry and ashamed.
"Allah!" he exclaimed, "you laugh, but you may have spoken true."