“I see them,” groaned Gunn, “and they see us. They’re making sport of us! I didn’t come here to be laughed at! I won’t stand it.”
“No stand—sit still,” advised Fraud.
He gave over his efforts and fell to watching the dancers. They were very graceful, but he remembered that Coddington had spoken carelessly of them, declaring that the favorites of the harem were far more beautiful. To Zenas it seemed that the so-called favorites were big, husky ladies, while their free-and-easy manners, and their slang, filled him with aversion. He had fancied the beauties of a harem to be something entirely different from the ones who were boldly embracing him. And one of them had confessed that she had changed husbands sixteen times—or more! This in a land where he had supposed a man could have a number of wives, but that no wife ever had more than one husband.
The glamour of the harem was fast wearing off, as far as Zenas Gunn, of Fardale, was concerned. Already he was beginning to think he had seen quite enough of it.
Fake and Fraud were not inclined to keep still long. The former began to dally with the professor’s whiskers, running her fingers through them and pulling them playfully.
“Pretty! pretty!” she cooed.
“Ba-a-a-a!” bleated Fraud, like a goat. “Wind go z-z-z-z-z.”
“Quit your fooling!” half snarled the fretted old fellow, pushing Fake’s hand away.
Her gloved fingers seemed to catch in his whiskers and give them a fearful yank, as he thrust her hand aside.
He howled with pain.