Mitsos, in his window-seat, shuddered and half sat up.
"I wish there had been more on board," continued Lelas. "Why, I'd have given a week's wage if that old Abdul and his poultry-yard of women had been there."
Next moment he was aware of two great hands half throttling him.
"Abdul who? Which Abdul?" said Mitsos, his face close to Lelas, and hissing out the words. "Speak, you damned pig of the pit."
"Abdul—this Abdul here—let go—Abdul Achmet, of course. He and his went to Tripoli yesterday. May you burn in hell for throttling me, you young devil."
But Mitsos heard nothing after "Abdul Achmet." He dropped his hold on Lelas and stood looking across at Yanni a minute, while new life ran in spate through his veins. Then he flung his arm round the neck of the astonished Lelas and kissed him on the cheek.
"Oh, fat man, but I love you for what you have said," he cried. "Yanni, Yanni, we will make the fat man drunk with wine, for he has made me drunk with joy. Oh, oh—"
And he flung out of the room with a great shout.
Lelas felt his neck tenderly.
"Is Mitsos quite mad, or only a little mad?" he asked, severely.