Mehemed Sadan was seated on a high-backed chair, close by a long table, on which was a long cloth of black velvet, covered with mystic signs and letters, which were all so much Greek to the visitors.
The room was filled with all kinds of things calculated to impress the vulgar with superstitious awe.
The effect was altogether lost upon Dick Harvey, for he made a point of nodding at the Arab astrologer in the most familiar manner.
"Morning to you, old fellow," he said, cheerfully.
"Salaam, sahib," responded the necromancer, gravely.
"Hullo!" said Jefferson, opening his eyes, "why, this Arab talks Hindustani."
"Leave it to me," said Dick Harvey, in an undertone.
The Arab then said some few words to the company generally, which the company generally could make rather less of than if they had been addressed in Chinese.
"He's talking no known language under the sun," said Harkaway. "It's my opinion he has got the cheek to talk regular right-down gibberish to us."
It was true.