"Ho, ho, ho," laughed Munro. "You're Scotch are you?"
"Ay, man, and a Banffshire laddie for bye. But, dod, man, I have ma ain adees (troubles) wi' that fushionless sinner, yonder."
A shell at this moment burst in the air outside, and the concussion shivered the glass in the window.
"Losh!" said the Scot, "that's gey near and vera emphatic."
The Sultan leapt up and would have bolted had not Sandie caught him by the skirts and thrust him back into his chair of state again.
"Off you go, my friend, and order the drinks; I'm going to talk big to this little Arab."
There was no respect for "nigger Sultans" in Munro's mind.
"I say, young fellow," he cried, "this is a pretty kettle of fish, ain't it? You're in a jolly tight corner you know."
"Oh! Can you save me?" whimpered the Sultan. "That pirate king will slay us all."
"Not he. He will pay some degree of respect for the Stars and Stripes and the Yewnion Jack, you may bet your bottom dollar on that. No, young fellow, it is you they are after, and they're going to catch you alive too. Your fleet is all down below among the jelly-fish except your flag-ship. They are knocking everything about but sparing your palace."