“White all through? What does that mean, please?”
“It means, miss, that he is good and true and fair all over. Not a yellow streak in him! Why, out in the desert—the niggers and them Arabs—they found it out quick enough—and Mr. Morton, he had the run of the country and their good-will pretty soon after we got settled there and they had a chance to see what kind of a man he was! After we had a little ruction with them once—why, after that, they would eat out of our hands!”
“Eat out of your hands?”—The Princess’s eyes were big with inquiry.
Helène gave a little laugh—equally at loss. “Now, Mr. McCormick, please tell us what that means.”
“Oh—I guess my talk ain’t just the easiest for you to get on to. I always forget that not all people come from America. Why, after these natives found out we were square, that Mr. John wasn’t afraid of them or anyone else, for that matter, that he wouldn’t stand for any crooked deal—why, they were just good—that’s all! I remember it as if it was yesterday; out there in the Soudan—a God-forsaken country that I can’t see why people will insist on living in—when Mr. Morton got to investigate our store tent one mornin’—he found a tripod and some instruments missin’. We looked ’round, found tracks in the dust and sand proving that some barefooted rascals had stole in over night. Mr. Morton, he just throws his rifle over his shoulder, says, ‘Come along, Don, we must see about this.’ Well, we got our Arab driver to bring the horses and rode over across the valley to a camp of Wadi-Arabs we know’d were stoppin’ there. Mr. John rides up and asks for the Chief. And when this feller—a fine-looking old chap with whiskers like Moses—comes up—‘Can I talk to all o’ your people for about five minutes?’ says he. The Chief just stares, asks Achmed—that’s our servant—a thing or two—and then gives a call like a foghorn. Out come a crowd o’ men, big and small, old and young, and they all lined up behind him without sayin’ a word.
“And then John Morton asks them to step up to the hollow into the shade of the rock—it was gittin’ mighty hot by that time—he just stands up on a boulder, leans on his rifle not caring any more than if he were in Euclid Park—in Cleveland, you know—and he says to the Chief: ‘I’ll say what I got to say in English, and I want you to translate it to your people.’ And the old man nods and grunts somethin’, an’ my boss—he goes on. And he tells ’em all right! ‘I have come here a stranger,’ says he, ‘to be a neighbor to you; I am peaceful. I don’t bother about you and I mind my own business. Now I want you to do to me as I am doin’ to you! Somebody, last night, took my tools and instruments, and I need them in my work—and I want ’em back! If any of you men is in need—you can come to me and if I can help ye—I will! If you need food—I’ll share mine with you. If you are in trouble and I know a way out—you can have my assistance. But I won’t allow any man to steal my things, and I am a feller you want to leave alone. I never wronged anybody—but neither will I permit any man living to do a wrong to me.’—Then he motions to the Chief and the old man he translates it to his people.”
Don stopped out of sheer breathlessness; his enthusiasm had carried him at a rapid pace, while the girls, fascinated, bent over, devouring every word. He paused long enough to relight his pipe and send out a few mouthfuls of his beloved golden-leaf smoke. Its pungent odor came to the girls’ nostrils and added to the reality of the mental pictures they had built out of his narrative.
“You ought to have seen him—standin’ there among those savage people, alone against a hundred—but as steady as a rock and as cool as a cucumber! Not an eyelash did he move! I wasn’t sure what would come next—but I guess Mr. Morton, he knew. He looked fine! I wish his father could ha’ seen him! The old man always was proud of his boy—as he had a right to be. He used to say to me: ‘Don, I want my boy to be a man first and a gentleman after!’ And I guess Mr. John is both, and both to the limit.”
He paused and gave a reminiscent stare into the infinite space above him. A few thoughtful pulls at the pipe followed by a copious discharge of saliva and he proceeded with his tale:
“Well—after the Chief had finished, two young fellers just drawed their burnooses a bit tighter over their faces and sneaked off. A minute later they brought the instruments, laid them down before Mr. John, and, walking with their heads bent in shame, they passed before the Chief. The old priest he just looked dark and grieved and waved them off without a word. Then he up and walks to John, hands him bread and salt and says: ‘Noble stranger, my people and me are humbled by your just complaint. Hereafter you needn’t lose sleep over my men; none of ’em will ever wrong you again, none of my people will do anything toward you that he don’t want you to do toward us. If we can do anything to please you—say the word—we are your slaves. And Mr. John—he took the bread and salt. Then we mounted the horses and rode home. Our servant, he carried the instruments and after that—none of them fellers came within a big spell of our camp! Those Arabs know a man when they see him pretty damn quick, I guess!’”