“He says we are to go to the Emir’s palace.”
“Emir’s palace? What Emir—what palace?”
“That fierce old chap as had such a bad arm. He’s an Emir. Mr Imbrahim says he’s just heard, and that an Emir’s a great gun out here. Sort of prince and general all in one, I suppose. He told me his name, but I forget what it is. It’s very foreign, though, and there’s a good lot of it. He’s a great friend, and a sort of half brother of the other fellow.”
“Other fellow? What other fellow?” said Frank, half angrily.
“Oh, you know, sir, the other big man that followed the Mahdi in taking the Soudan.”
“You mean the Khalifa?”
“That’s right, sir. I’m not good at all over these Egyptian chaps. I’ve one name for them all—the bad lot, and that’s enough for me. Now, sir—bah! Ben Eddin, I mean; breakfast will be ready in ten minutes, so look sharp. I like to see you have a good meal in the morning, just as I like one for myself. It’s something to keep you going all day. It makes a deal of difference if you start fair.”
“I’ll be there,” said Frank.
“Recollect you’re to put on your clean white cotton jacket. Mr Ibbrahim says his chaps have been seeing to the camels so that they shall look their best, and that it’s very important that the Hakim should be dressed out well, and he will.”
Frank’s toilet in those days was very simple, and within the time he was at the door of the Hakim’s tent, to find him dressed and waiting to begin his morning meal, the professor coming from the tent directly after, ready to greet both and enjoy the excellent repast that was waiting, the Emir having kept up his attentions in that direction to the doctor who had saved his arm from mortification, and consequently himself from death.