“Did ye not tell me ye were Arabs?”
“We are Arabs,” answered the chief, laughing at his simplicity.
“Then if ye are Arabs, what does this violence mean?”
“It means you are my slave.”
“Slave! I a slave?”
“Certainly, and worth over fifty dollars at Zanzibar.”
“I a slave! Do you know Selim?”
“Selim? What Selim? I know plenty of Selims.”
“My Selim. Only my Selim. A white Arab boy, of my size?”
“What of him?”