“No, Excellency, not yet,” replied the Sheikh. “Take off those clothes and put on those that I will get, and you are the interpreter of the great Frankish Hakim. That is enough. The people will rush to you and call you brother. His Excellency here, clothed as I will clothe him, that great, grand head white from the barber’s razor, with that magnificent beard hanging down over his robe in front, and with the wisdom of the physician to cure the sufferers who will come—even the Khalifa and his greatest officers would come and bend to him. Yes, all this is grand.”
“Well done,” said the professor, with a sigh of relief.
“His Excellency here is a great doctor—one who can cure bad wounds?” asked the Sheikh.
“One of the best in London,” said the professor enthusiastically. “He can almost perform miracles.”
“It is good,” said the Sheikh gravely. “He will find much work to do, for the Mahdi’s followers die like flocks and herds in time of plague for want of help. Now about his young Excellency here. He will be the Hakim’s slave?”
“Yes; his learned slave, Ibrahim. He is skilled in chemistry and science.”
“I do not know what chemistry and science mean, Excellency.”
“The power to perform natural miracles,” said the professor.
“It is enough; but he must do as he said. As he is now he would be watched by suspicious eyes; I could not answer for his life. As the Hakim’s black slave who helps his master and is mute, yes, he will be safe too. But this man—this servant? What can he do? Will he be black and mute?”
“H’m, no,” said the professor, hesitating.