“Is he dead?”
“What a question, Max! Emin was a middle-aged man at that time, and that is over seventy years ago.”
“Had he any sons?”
“I believe so. Why do you ask?”
“Because I would like to see any of his descendants. I would like to speak to them. It would be a proud honor to say, ‘I shook hands, or ate salt, with the grandson of Emin Bey.’”
“Why, Madcap, I never saw you so serious before!”
“Did you not, dad? Oh, I often get fits of that kind.”
Max laughed as he spoke, and seemed once again the merry, happy, careless boy.
“Depend upon it, Max, they are nothing better than slave hunters or pirates now.”
“I hope you are wrong, dad.”