“Why, you are laughing at me, you dog! Hang it all, sir, it’s too bad. Never mind, it will be your turn next; and look here, Lawrence,” he cried with a malignant grin, “this is a real bite, not a sham one. I’m not pretending that I have been bitten by a snake.”
“Why, Mr Burne—”
“Well, I thought it was, but it is a real bite. Here, you, Yussuf, hold hard—what a deadly-looking implement!” he cried, as their guide bared his long keen knife. “Look here, sir, I know I’m a dog—a giaour, and that you are one of the faithful, and that it is a good deed on your part to injure me as an enemy, but, mind this, if you stick that knife thing into my leg too far, I’ll—I’ll—confound you, sir!—I’ll bring an action against you, and ruin you, as sure as my name’s Burne.”
“Have no fear, effendi,” said Yussuf gravely, going down on one knee, while the people crowded round.
“Cut gently, my dear fellow,” said Mr Burne; “it isn’t kabobs or tough chicken, it’s human leg. Hang it all! You great stupids, what are you staring at? Give a man room to breathe—wough! Oh, I say, Yussuf, that was a dig.”
“Just enough to make it bleed, effendi. There, that will take out some of the poison, and now I’ll touch the place with some of this spirit.”
“Wough!” ejaculated Mr Burne again, as the wound was touched with the stopper of the bottle. “I say, that’s sharp. Humph! it does not hurt quite so much now, only smarts. Thank ye, Yussuf. Why, you are quite a surgeon. Here, what are those fellows chattering about?”
“They say the Franks are a wonderful people to carry cures about in little bottles like that.”
“Humph! I wish they’d kill their snakes and insects, and not waste their time staring,” said the old gentleman, drawing up his stocking, after letting the ammonia dry in the sun. “Yes; I’m better now,” he added, drawing down his trouser leg. “Much obliged, Yussuf. Don’t you take any notice of what I say when I’m cross.”
“I never do, excellency,” said Yussuf smiling gravely.