“Huzoor, those are flies.”
“Good, good, they are, excellent, but why have I called you?”
“To drive them elsewhere,” said Hassan, after painful thought.
“Driven elsewhere, they always return.”
“Huzoor.”
“You must make some arrangement against flies; that is why you are my servant,” said Aziz gently.
Hassan would call the little boy to borrow the step-ladder from Mahmoud Ali’s house; he would order the cook to light the Primus stove and heat water; he would personally ascend the steps with a bucket in his arms, and dip the end of the coil into it.
“Good, very good. Now what have you to do?”
“Kill flies.”
“Good. Do it.”