The “Tombs of the Kings” from the top of the Libyan range, to which I climbed above the plain of Thebes
“Yes,” I answered.
He drew a card from his pocket and scribbled on it two fantastic Arabic characters.
“Take the third-class coach,” he said, handing me the pass. “This covers my division; but you might drop off in Beni Suef and look about.”
Following his advice, I halted near noonday at that wind-swept village. There was no need to make inquiry for the European residents; they were all duly recorded in the “comrades’ Baedeker.” As in Cairo, however, they offered money in lieu of work, and clutched weakly at the nearest support when I refused it. A young Englishman, inscribed in my notes as “Bromley, Pasha, Inspector of Irrigation; quite easy,” gave me evening rendezvous on the bank of the canal beyond the village. Long after dark he appeared on horseback, attended by two natives with flaming torches, and, being ferried across the canal, led the way towards his dahabeah, anchored at the shore of the Nile.
“I fancied I’d find something to put you at,” he explained, as he turned his horse over to a jet-black groom who popped up out of the darkness, “but I didn’t, and the last train’s gone. I’ll buy you a ticket to Assiut in the morning.”
“I have a pass,” I put in.
“Oh,” said the Englishman, “well, you’ll put up with me here to-night, anyway.”
He led the way across the gangplank. The change from the bleak wastes of African sand to this floating palace was as startling as if Bromley, Pasha, had been possessor of Aladdin’s lamp. Richly-turbaned servants, in spotless white gowns, sprang forward to greet their master; to place a chair for him; to pull off his riding boots and replace them with slippers; to slip the Cairo daily into his hands; and sped noiselessly away to finish the preparation of the evening meal. Had Bromley, Pasha, been a fellow countryman, I might have enjoyed the pleasure of his company instead of dining alone in the richly-furnished anteroom. But Englishmen of the “upper classes” are not noted for their democratic spirit, and the good inspector, no doubt, dreaded the uncouth table manners of a plebeian from half-civilized America.