“Except little Dicky Donovan!”
“That’s all twaddle. There’s no man Ismail fears so much, because he’s the idol of the cafes and the bazaars. He’s the Egyptian in Egypt to-day. You talk about me? Why, I’m the foreigner, the Turk, the robber, the man that holds the lash over Egypt. I’d go like a wisp of straw if there was an uprising.”
“Will there be an uprising?” The Southerner’s fingers moved as though they were feeling a pistol.
“As sure as that pyramid stands. Everything depends on the kind of uprising. I want one kind. There may be another.”
“That’s what you are here for?”
“Exactly.”
“Who is he?”
“Wait.”
“What is his story?”
“She was.” He nodded towards the funeral procession.