“But look here, my lad; we ought to do all that is wanted for ourselves, excepting such little jobs as we could set the Arabs to do.”
“Arabs, sir? The Arabs!” cried Sam. “Oh, I don’t think much of them. I’ve seen ’em. That lot as come over to London seven years ago. Bed-ridden Arabs they call theirselves. They could tumble head over heels, and fire off guns when they were in the air; but you gentlemen want a good honest English servant, not a street tumbler and accryback.”
“Tut, tut, tut! listen to me,” said the professor. “Do you know what the desert is like?”
“Can’t say I know much about it, sir, only what I read in Mungo Park’s travels. Deal o’ sand, ain’t there?”
“Yes,” said the professor, “there is a deal of sand there, and no houses, no butlers’ pantries, no kitchens.”
“Well, sir, if I made up a box with half a knifeboard for a lid, and my bottle o’ blacking, my brushes, and a leather or two and the rouge for my plate, I daresay I could get on.”
“Bah-h-h-h!” snarled the professor. “Why didn’t you add a big stone filter, a plate-rack, and a kitchen boiler? My good man, you’re impossible.”
“I ain’t, sir, ’pon my word. You mean I should have to make more of a shift. Well, of course I would.”
“Look here, then, I grant that you can shave. You can make a fire, boil water, and cook?”
“Can I, sir?” cried the man scornfully. “I should think I can!”