The governor turned briskly toward the speaker.
“Gazzoso?” he said, interrogatively.
To which Talhamy replied: “Aïwah [yes,] Gazzoso.”
Aerated lemonade and cigars were then brought. The governor watched the process of uncorking with a face of profound interest and drank with the undisguised greediness of a school-boy. Even the kadi and mudîr relaxed somewhat of the gravity of their demeanor. To men whose habitual drink consists of lime-water and sugar, bottled lemonade represents champagne mousseux of the choicest brand.
Then began the usual attempts at conversation; and only those who have tried small talk by proxy know how hard it is to supply topics, suppress yawns and keep up an animated expression of countenance, while the civilities on both sides are being interpreted by a dragoman.
We began, of course, with the temperature; for in Egypt, where it never rains and the sun is always shining, the thermometer takes the place of the weather as a useful platitude. Knowing that Assûan enjoys the hottest reputation of any town on the surface of the globe, we were agreeably surprised to find it no warmer than England in September. The governor accounted for this by saying that he had never known so cold a winter. We then asked the usual questions about the crops, the height of the river, and so forth; to all of which he replied with the ease and bonhomie of a man of the world. Nubia, he said, was healthy—the date-harvest had been abundant—the corn promised well—the Soudan was quiet and prosperous. Referring to the new postal arrangements, he congratulated us on being able to receive and post letters at the second cataract. He also remarked that the telegraphic wires were now in working order as far as Khartûm. We then asked how soon he expected the railway to reach Assûan; to which he replied: “In two years, at latest.”
At length our little stock of topics came to an end and the entertainment flagged.
“What shall I say next?” asked the dragoman.
“Tell him we particularly wish to see the slave market.”
The smile vanished from the governor’s face. The mudîr set down a glass of fizzing lemonade, untasted. The kadi all but dropped his cigar. If a shell had burst in the saloon their consternation could scarcely have been greater.