“Your hat, sir,” said the man hesitatingly.
“Well, what about it? It’s mine, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir; of course, sir. I thought you’d like me to take it and hang it up.”
“Then you thought wrong,” said the professor, and he so thoroughly stared Sam out of countenance, that the man shrank from the fierce frown and backed out of the room.
“Just as if a man can’t do as he likes with his own hat,” said the professor, with his face relaxing, as he crossed to one of the easy chairs, wheeled it forward, sat down, and then slipped off his hat, thrust his hand inside, whisked something out, and placed hat and stick under the table, before, with a good deal of flourish, he drew a very dingy-looking old scarlet fez over his starting black hair, with the big blue silk tassels hanging down behind, and settled himself comfortably by drawing up first one and then the other leg across and beneath him, à la turque.
“There,” he said, with a pleasant smile. “This chair isn’t so comfortable as the sand of the desert, but I must make it do. Now I’m ready for business. What’s the first thing to be done?”
“To make arrangements for your start at once,” said Frank sharply. “You will sail for Egypt, and make your preparations for going up the country, and I shall go with you.”
“Oh, you’ve settled that, have you?” said the professor, turning upon the speaker, and pulling the fez a little more tightly on, for his stiff hair had a disposition to thrust it off. “You two have been busy then, eh, Bob?”
“Certainly not,” said the doctor; “not a word has been said of this before.”
“That’s right,” said the professor. “Are you aware of what it will cost, Frank?”