This suggestion was sufficient for the moment, and the men-o'-warsmen lowered their voices as they did so. But another din almost as great as had been their own arose. A perfect army of beggars surged toward them. Arabs, Greeks, Hindoos, Nubians, black, white and brown men surrounded the jackies, crying out in shrill voices, "Backsheesh! Backsheesh!" All tongues sounded alike when it came to begging.
"Get out of my pocket, you heathen!" roared Sam Hickey.
"This is almost as bad as Paris!" cried Dan Davis, trying to fight his way through the mob. "But I'd rather meet a regiment of these howling Dervishes, or whatever they are, than one Paris guide."
"Give them the flying wedge," shouted a jackie.
"Whoop! Go!"
Beggars tumbled to right and left. Greek, Hindoo, Arab, Nubian and Albanian went down in a yelling, shouting heap on either side as the jackies charged into their ranks.
Clang, clang!
"Look out for the trolley car," shouted Dan.
"What—trolley cars in this heathen country!" cried one.
"Yes, and I'll bet that car there came from Newport, R. I.," jeered Hickey. "Yes, sir; that's the very car that I used to ride to town on from the training station."