“Do get up and come to Mr Frank, sir,” he said in a hurried whisper.
Morris sat up at once.
“What is it?” he said in the calm, matter-of-fact way of a doctor who always feels that a sudden awakening means a call upon him for aid.
“I went to tell him it was time to rouse up, sir, and he began talking nonsense.”
“What do you mean?” said the doctor, dressing hurriedly.
“Called me a white-faced dog; and then ‘The stirrup,’ he says, ‘the stirrup: can’t you see it’s too short?’”
“Ah?” ejaculated the doctor.
“‘Stirrup?’ I says, ‘what stirrup, sir?’ and then he went on: ‘You English are not fit even for slaves. Be quick! Can’t you see that your lord and his friends are waiting to see me ride?’ he says, ‘and don’t defile those red reins with your dirty white hands!’ Of course I knew he was dreaming, and I shook him, but only made him burst out into a lot more stuff—telling me I was to fall ill and ask for the Hakim to cure me, and then we should be all together again. But that ain’t the worst of it, sir.”
“No? Then what is?” said the doctor, fastening up his long robe calmly.
“He’s quite off his head, sir, and his tongue’s running nineteen to the dozen. If you can’t stop it we shall have all the Emir’s people noticing it. Hadn’t you better pretend as you’ve cured him, sir, and made him speak? If you don’t we shall be having the cat let out of the bag, and all be scratched to death.”