The words, or sounds, let us say, which the necromancer was uttering, only sounded but too much like "hokey-pokey kickeraboo abracadabra," and the rest of the mysterious sounds with which the conjurer at juvenile parties seeks to invest his performance with additional wonder, for the benefit of his youthful audience.
Dick was in a rage.
"Confound his impudence," he exclaimed; "I'll give him one."
So he let out in this wise—
"Chi ki hi-u-thundrinold umbuggo—canardly keep my thievinirons off your wool—I should like to land you just one on the smeller and tap your claret."
At which, to the surprise of the magician, the visitors burst out laughing.
The Arab necromancer now asked them, in very good Greek, the object of their visit.
"We shall not understand much if we are addressed in Greek," said Harkaway; "try him in Italian."
And then they found that the conjurer spoke Italian as well, or better, than any of the party.
"Can you tell me," said Jack Harkaway, by way of beginning business, "if I shall succeed in the present object of my desires or not?"