Yussuf smiled, and took off his fez, from which he rapidly untwisted the muslin folds.
“Your excellency will condescend to wear my fez?” he said.
“No, sir, I will not,” cried Mr Burne. “Certainly not.”
“But your excellency may suffer from sunstroke,” said Yussuf. “I must insist.”
“You must what?” cried Mr Burne angrily.
“Insist, your excellency,” replied Yussuf gravely. “I am answerable for your safety. Your life, while I am in your service, is more than mine.”
“And yet, sir, you brought me here, along a break-neck path, to fight robbers yesterday. Didn’t they shoot at me?”
“I could not prevent that, excellency,” said Yussuf smiling. “I can prevent you from being smitten by the sun. Your handkerchief, please.”
“Oh, all right!” exclaimed Mr Burne ruefully. “I suppose I am nobody at all here. Take it. Here are two.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Yussuf smiling with satisfaction, and with all the oriental’s love of bright colours, as he took the two yellow silk handkerchiefs, and rolled them loosely before arranging them in a picturesque fashion round his bright scarlet fez, and handing the head-dress back to Mr Burne.