“Have you lost something?” inquired Ganz.
“I seem,” answered Magin, “to have lost half my audience. What has become of our elusive English friend? Am I so unfortunate as to have been unable to satisfy his refined ear? Or can it be that his emotions were too much for him?”
“He was in a hurry,” explained Ganz. “He is just back from Dizful, you know.”
“Ah?” uttered Magin. “He is a very curious young man. He is always in a hurry. He was in a hurry the first time I had the pleasure of meeting him. He was in such a hurry at Bala Bala that he didn’t wait to see the celebration which you told me he went to see. He also left Dizful in a surprising hurry, from what I hear. I happen to know that the telegraph had nothing to do with it. I can only conclude that some one frightened him away. Where do you suppose he hurries to? And do you think he will arrive in time?”
Ganz opened his mouth; but if he intended to say something, he decided instead to draw his hand across his spare jaw. However, he did speak after all.
“I notice that you at least do not hurry, Majesty! Do you fiddle while Rome burns?”
“Ha!” laughed Magin. “It is not Rome that burns! And I notice, Mr. Ganz, that you seem to be of a forgetful as well as of an inquiring disposition. I would have been in Mohamera long ago if it had not been for your Son of Papa, with his interest in unspoiled towns. I will thank you to issue no more letters to the Father of Swords without remembering me. Do you wish to enrich the already overstocked British Museum at my expense? But I do not mind revealing to you that I am now really on my way to Mohamera.”
“H’m,” let out Ganz slowly. “My dear fellow, haven’t you heard that there is a war in Europe?”
“I must confess, my good Ganz, that I have. But what has Europe to do with Mohamera?”
“God knows,” said Ganz. “I should think however, since you are so far from the Gulf, that you would prefer the route of Baghdad—now that French and Russian cruisers are seeking whom they may devour.”