It might have been the camel market, but it sounded like Bedlam. No sooner did the professor appear than the camel-drivers were round him like a swarm of flies, and the Egyptian Survey expert, who had arranged to meet him there, had to shoulder the natives away like sheep in order to get through to his friend.
A nearer view of the camels decided Perry that the Ship of the Desert did not look nearly as peaceful in real life as in pictures. The beasts had an ugly trick of lifting the upper lip and showing big teeth that was quite disconcerting. Nor did the boy fail to note that a number of the camels were strongly muzzled.
“Do camels bite, Uncle George?” Perry asked, as soon as the palaver was over, and the Survey expert had not only chosen the camels he wanted but also driven off the men who had not been hired—a much harder task.
“Some of them do,” was the reply. “A camel can be one of the most vicious beasts of burden in the world. You remember Kipling’s famous verses about the ‘’oont, the commissariat ’oont?’”
“No,” honestly answered Perry, “I don’t.”
“Learn them when you get home,” advised the professor, “there’s probably a copy in the hotel library. It’ll give you something to say to-morrow, when you want to express your feelings. I know camels!”
“Never you mind, Perry,” said the government survey expert, who was to join the expedition, a keen young fellow named Arnold Wyr, “I’ve picked out a bunch that won’t give much trouble. But your uncle’s right about camels. As a general rule, they’re a jolly mean beast to handle. Still, desert work is impossible without them.”
“Couldn’t donkeys do instead?”
The other shook his head.
“A donkey can get along on poor pickings, when it comes to food, but he’s got to have water, you know. No, for desert work, the camel is the only creature that can stand it. A day without water doesn’t hurt a camel, but it will cripple a donkey and kill a horse. The camel is well-enough suited to his job, but he’s not a bally armchair. I hope you’re jolly well seasoned.”