A shriek of laughter greeted this innocent jest. Hank sat up, his lazy voice became immediately incisive.
"On the Fez Road—an American?"
"He was a man with white eyes," said a voice.
"Oh, Mamie, how unkind! still his eyes did look white."
Hank shot a swift glance at the Duke, and the latter nodded.
"I suppose," drawled Hank, "it would be a mighty improper question to ask where this freeborn citizen of God's country is stayin' in Tangier."
But nobody knew. They had met the man by accident, they had seen him once in the Great Sok, more than this they could not say.
Hank had picked up a servant, none other than Rabbit.
Rabbit is a well-known figure in Tangier society. A waif of the streets, a bravo, an adventurer, a most amusing child of nature was this Rabbit—so-called because of a certain facial resemblance to bunny. It may be said of Rabbit that he disobeyed most commands of the Prophet. He drank, gambled, and was on friendly terms with the giaour. None the less he rose at inconvenient hours of the night, tucked a praying carpet under his arm and hied him to his orisons. Rabbit had curious likes and dislikes; he was not everybody's man.
His world had two names. The world that treated him well, and to whom he attached himself, was "Mr. Goodman"; the world repugnant had a name which has no exact equivalent in the English language, but which in German would be "Mr. Shameless-dog-burnt-in-pitch-and-consigned-to-the underworld." Hank was the time being his "Mr. Goodman," and to Rabbit Hank delegated the task of discovering Bill.