“Yes, it’s not pleasant,” said Tom Long, with an involuntary shudder, as, in imagination, he saw the dark face of his enemy always on the watch for an opportunity to assassinate him.
“I never finished my account of the trip to the sultan’s,” said Bob, at last.
“Was there anything more to tell?”
“Yes, one thing,” replied Bob; “the best of the whole lot.”
“What was it?”
“Don’t get riled if I tell you.”
“Pooh! how can it rile me?”
“Oh, I don’t know; only it may. It was a proposal made by the sultan to Mr Linton.”
“Proposal! What proposal?”
“Well, I’ll tell you; only don’t go into fits. It was after we’d been sitting smoking for a bit, and just before we were coming away. Master Sultan had shown us all his best things—his gold and silver, and his slaves, and the dingy beauties with great earrings, and bangles on their arms and legs, who have the honour of being his wives; and at last he said something to Mr Linton, who understands his lingo as well as you and I do French.”