“Aw—please, O, clashing cadence of my soul’s innermost adoration, let your Sheiky know what gives you such happiness divine!”
“Nix-nix!” said Verbeena with excessive laughter, “my conquering devil! Have you fed the camels yet? If not, spill that toga and hump yourself!”
“Immediately, O, exquisite creature of Allah’s greatest favor! And yet, if you’ll pardon me, this night I had planned taking a smack at my old enemy, Sheik Abraham O’Mara. He’s been cutting into the borders of our sandpile considerable lately. E’er this, Queenie, he has always been scared of me. But now he rides about the wide places, the narrow and the circumambient without fear or dread of Amut Ben Butler.
“Once his goat was mine but now he thinks nothing of grabbing my horses and camels any old time.”
“Go right over and attend to him this evening,” said Verbeena. “You have my full permission. If he gets giddy with you just tell him I’ll be over myself. I’ve heard too that he is uncommonly cussed among the women. And him a black Sheik at that—the old Ace of Spades! Tell him——”
THE SHEIK ABRAHAM O'MARA, WHO BEAT IT FOR DEAR LIFE ACROSS THE SAHARA AT SIGHT OF VERBEENA.
“Tee-hee-hee!” chuckled the lordly Amut.
“What are you laughing at?” demanded his thoroughly acknowledged wife—(in writing, you remember).