"Come, I say," cried Munro the American, as he gathered himself up, fold after fold, from off the floor, "why the old Harry did you stop and protrude your stern like that? I believe I've split my blessed breeches."
Before Mr. Johnson could gather himself up, for he was somewhat John Bull-ish fore and aft, Munro had stepped over him, and advanced to the regal chair.
"Shake," he said, holding out a long, bony, twelve-inch hand.
The Sultan moved not, nor answered. Was he not a king?
"Shake!" shouted the Consul, in a voice that made the jewelled ornaments round the room ring and tinkle. "How long have you been deaf?"
The Sultan now condescended to shake hands with both Consuls.
Munro wheeled quickly round to a liveried or uniformed attendant.
"I say," he cried, "fetch us two brandies and a split, I see this is going to be dry work."
The gentleman whom he addressed was really one of the Sultan's ministers and advisers.
He smiled as he looked comically at Munro. "Would ye no hae a drap o' the auld kirk," he said. "It's prime stuff and a' the wey fae Glendronach."