“Get out!” cried Sam, laughing. “England ain’t the Soudan. Forty miles by the express means under one hour’s ride, Mr Abrahams.”
The Sheikh looked at him gravely.
“Mr Samuel,” he said, “the barbers in Egypt and Turkey and Persia always have been famous for telling wonderful stories. I thought now you were speaking seriously.”
“So I was, and about the doctor being so good to my poor old mother. Twice a week he kept on going to see her till she died, and when I wanted to pay something, he laughed at me and said he had done it all for a faithful servant and friend who was a good son. That’s why I’m out here to look after him, Mr Abrahams. He’s splendid, and you’re right. Just you tumble off your camel and break a leg or a wing, or crack your nut, and let him put you right. I’ll nurse you, and so will Mr Frrrr—Ben Eddin.”
“Hah! I think I will,” said the Sheikh, “when we have done; only I must not break too much for I am growing old. But two long days’ journey in an hour, Mr Samuel? The Cairo railway never does anything like that.”
“The Cairo railway!” said Sam scornfully. “Don’t talk about it. Why, I went down into the country with the Hakim once, and we rode part of the way nearly twice as fast as I said. Not eighty miles an hour, but seventy; that’s a fact. Hullo! what’s going on now? They look as if they’re going to eat us.”
“It is only their way of showing joy, Mr Samuel.”
“But they’re a-shouting, ‘Hay—keem! Hay—keem!’”
“They have heard how the Hakim saved the Emir’s and his son’s lives and cured so many more. Hark they are saying that a great prophet is come, and they are crying aloud for joy.”
“Prophet!” said Sam grimly, as he made an atrocious joke; “not much profit for him, poor chap. Why, they’ll bring all the sore places out of the town for him to cure.”