“Eighty-six beans!” said the big feller. And before the other’s eyes he bobbed a large goatskin purse which jingled.
“Marks or francs?”
“O, my well-known Allah! Better’n ’nat! American pennies! How’s that hippolohit yer?”
“Gimme that bag! She’s yours.”
Musty Ale shoved the coin of treachery next to a half loaf of bread under his sandy jelab.
As the other wheeled his magnificent charger to spur it to a violent gallop, Musty suddenly called:
“Hup!” (Halt!)
“What?”
“She likes to be called ‘Queen.’”