"So you have heard," said he, "of Hassan converting the infidel?"
"Oh, yes!" said Mobarik, taking off his turban, and with a comical leer on his face; "the hawk struck the quail, and the eagle bore it off."
"God is great! There is more game a-field," said Hassan; "but how heard you the affair?"
"Is not the infidel in my ward?" said Mobarik.
"Then she is in the garden room," said Hassan; "that is all right."
"What garden room? and what is right?" said Mobarik, whose professional vigilance was awakened.
"Hast thou forgotten, O fat man! the carpenter's lad that was taken in to repair the door-lock?"
Before he could say more, Mobarik had closed his mouth with his hand,—
"Wilt thou be silent, O unfortunate? If thou didst escape, thank God; art thou weary of thy life?"
"Perhaps I am," said Hassan, "but thou wert well paid for that affair;" and he slapped the pocket of his caftan, making the money that it contained ring. "Now, uncle Mobarik, put on your turban, and listen to me. Shall I put you in the way of pocketing a nice little sum of fifty dollars?" The flabby face grinned. "Good! I must see this Jewess." The mouth fell open, the eyes rounded, and with his turban stuck on awry, any one less heavy at heart than Hassan must have been convulsed with laughter. His mouth then closed tight, and his head shook from side to side.