“Yes,” said Kate, “I always remember that line by thinking of boots and slippers and feet.”
Muriel was speaking with too much earnestness to give heed to her friend’s lack of poetic reverence. “Life’s so short,” she went on, “that I’m going to make the most of it. I’m going to have my fling, Kate. I’m going to be merry.”
“Right-o!” said Kate. “I’m with you, old bean.”
[CHAPTER XI—THE OASIS IN THE DESERT]
Upon a day towards the end of November, Daniel Lane was seated upon the clean sand of the outer courtyard of the little mosque which stood at the southern end of the Oasis of El Hamrân. It was the hour of noon, and the shadow cast by the small, squat minaret behind him extended no further than his white canvas shoes, as he leaned his back against the unbaked bricks, and stared before him across the glaring enclosure to the palm-groves outside the open gateway.
In spite of the heat of the sun, the blue shadow in which he rested still afforded a pleasant coolness; and clad in a somewhat frayed tennis shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of well-worn grey flannel trousers, held up by a stout leather belt, his figure gave the appearance of such comfort and ease that his lazy reluctance to rise and go home to his midday meal was understandable.
Five Bedouin Arabs who had been laughing and talking with him, were now standing a few yards distant at the whitewashed door of the mosque, and were engaged in removing their red shoes before entering the sacred building; while, at the same time, they were conversing together in undertones, as though discussing some matter of importance.
Daniel sprawled to his feet, and, pulling his hat over his eyes, walked towards the whitewashed gateway which gleamed with dazzling brilliance against the deep blue of the sky and the green of the palms; but as he moved away his Bedouin friends hastened to him across the hot sand, and one of the number, the white-bearded Sheikh Ali, the headman of the Oasis, laid a hand upon his arm.
“My friend,” he faltered, speaking in the liquid-sounding Arabic of the western desert, “there is something I would say to you.” He seemed to hesitate.
“He is wise who listens to the wise,” Daniel replied, taking hold of the Sheikh’s hand, in the native manner of friends.