“Yes, O Hakim.”
“But on the other hand, as we have found out this morning, everything depends upon my treatment of my patients.”
“Yes, O Hakim, it is so,” replied the Sheikh sadly.
“Pleasant for a weak man,” said the doctor drily. “If I cure I am a prophet; if I fail—”
“You’ll be a Hakim without a head, old fellow,” said the professor. “Ergo, as Shakespeare says, you must not fail. It was rather a close shave, too, this morning—there, I wasn’t alluding to you, Sam,” he continued, turning to the man, who was looking ghastly, as he stood close by hearing every word. “There, pluck up, my lad; your master did cure this time. Well, Frank, you are silent. How do matters strike you?”
“It seems to me that we have thoroughly fallen upon our feet, and have nothing to mind.”
“So long as these people use us well,” said the doctor.
“Well, if they do not we have still our old plan to fall back upon. We must take to the camels and flee for our lives, even if we leave everything else behind.”
“And with our task undone, Landon,” said Frank bitterly.
“Who said anything about leaving our task undone? Nothing of the kind. It will only mean starting afresh, and from right up the country instead of from Cairo.”