The meal prepared by the Sheikh’s people astounded the little party—there were crisp cutlets, freshly made cakes, bowls of a porridge made with fresh milk and some kind of finely ground grain, and fruit in abundance, while all pronounced the freshly roasted coffee to be delicious. So appetising did it prove in the pleasant, subdued shadow of the tent, that the weariness of the past night was forgotten by more than one, for before the meal was at an end Sam made his appearance, washed and refreshed, to help attend to his master’s wants, and say in answer to Frank’s inquiries that he couldn’t have believed he could feel so much better in so short a time.
Frank smiled to himself, but he did not allude to the will. It was soon evident, though, that the man had his words upon his conscience, for he kept on giving Frank peculiar, meaning looks, one and all of which were ignored, the only words that passed being later in the afternoon, when Sam suddenly edged up close to his confidant and said—
“It’s wonderful what a good rest does for a man, Mr Frank, sir, isn’t it?”
“Wonderful, Sam,” was the reply. “I feel very little the worse for my night’s ride.”
“That’s just about like I am, sir, and—”
“I can’t stop Sam,” said Frank, interrupting him; “your master wants me again.”
Frank hurried back to the doctor’s side to resume his position of assistant, for he had been pretty busy making his first essays at the task which was to be his for many months to come.
For the Sheikh’s son had been seen, examined, and an operation performed, one of a very simple nature, but sufficient to give instant relief; while the Hakim’s instructions that the lad was to remain lying down for a month were not hard for one who had not stood up, save in acute agony, for three years.
“I am well paid for this operation, Frank, my lad,” said the Hakim, when he left the lad’s tent; for the old Sheikh had gone down on one knee to touch the hand extended to him.
“It is a miracle, Excellency,” he said; “but tell me that he will live.”