“Two ribs were broken when monsieur fell on me,” he said.
“Say, that’s pretty tough,” commiserated Bob. “Makes it hard for you when riding, doesn’t it?”
A shrug of the shoulders was the other’s sole reply, while he continued to stare at Bob.
“Monsieur is, perhaps, an athlete, yes?” he asked, with rising inflection. “He participates in college sports?”
Mighty chummy of him, thought Bob.
“Oh, a little,” he said.
“Monsieur is too modest,” the Athensian said suavely. “Doubtless, he is a great man among the youth of his land. Is it England? Monsieur is not French nor Spanish. Then he must be English. I have heard the English are fine sportsmen.”
“Huh,” blurted Bob. “I’m an American. In our country we have as good sports as in England.”
“An American?” queried the Athensian, in a tone of enlightenment. “Then how comes monsieur in this far country?”
Bob did not reply. What could he say? He was puzzled by the Athensian’s attitude? Asking him about sports first, and then demanding how he came to be here in the Sahara. Besides, how did this Athensian happen to be speaking French, when he lived in a hidden city unknown to the world? Bob decided it would not come amiss for him to ask a question or two by way of continuing the conversation. So he smiled at the other, and said: