We hear Selim’s voice first, as we pay him this attention for personating the hero of this veracious romance.
Said he: “Well, Simba;—ah, Isa, you do not know what a treasure Simba is; he is so great, so wise, so strong!—what do you think of the southern road? do you think we shall see more fun?”
“My young master, I fear so,” answered Simba, while at the same time he never lifted his head, so apparently intent was he in keeping his flint-lock musket clean—a favourite occupation with Simba.
“You fear so!” said Isa, in a tone of surprise. “What, you fear that we shall see some fun! Fie, Simba! did you not hear your young master say you were brave and strong, and why should you fear we should have some fun?” he asked, in a sneering tone.
Simba, turning his wise and large eyes upon Isa, said: “Ah, Master Isa, you are a boy, and cannot understand.”
“Hear the slave!” shouted Isa, laughing boisterously at Simba’s solemnity. “Hear the man!” he repeated. “Isa, son of Mohammed, is a boy and cannot understand—and cannot understand what—will you tell me, brave Simba?” he asked.
“You cannot understand, child, that what may be fun to some people will be sorrow to others; that we may meet with fun of a kind that neither you nor any of us will much like,” said Simba, still rubbing away at the already excessively clean gun, and looking graver than before.
“Why, what is the matter with you to-night?” asked Selim of Simba.
“The truth is, master, I do not like the course the Arabs have taken. I think they have been too hasty in adopting the southern road. None knows it better than friend Moto, and if the great masters had asked of Moto something about the road, my mind would be more easy concerning you and the great master Amer.”
“What do you know of it, Moto?” asked Selim. “Speak, and tell us all you know.”