Kardofan acted as pilot.
The saloon was commodious and well ventilated with punkahs to cool the air.
This was really a valuable consideration in such a sultry climate.
There the thermometer has no respect for foreigners, and the mercury especially laughs at Europeans.
When the sun went down and the moon rose amid the twinkling stars, a cool breeze sprang up.
It was indeed welcome, for the hot air, sand-laden like a sirocco, was difficult to breathe.
Supper had been served by obsequious natives. Clara was reclining in a hammock, fanned by wind from the port-holes.
Harry was smoking and thinking. Mole and Monday were seated at a table on which was a flask of wine, but alas! no ice!
This was a luxury not to be obtained in those latitudes.
“Here we are, sah! Pass de claret!” said Monday.