"A lout, say you? Methinks his frame deserves a fairer word."
"A lout, I say again: clumsy as an untamed colt. Did he not break my best basin into a thousand and one fragments?"
"And why is he too not in the army?"
"In the army! By the tomb of my father, what should he do in the army? Where are his wits? Bid him go to the right, straightway he goes to the left. Ahi! it broke my poor brother's heart to find a witless mind in a body that, as you truly say, has some elements of graciousness. Will he repay me for all my pains in training him to my honourable craft? Who can tell? He has but just arrived; and I have yet to learn——"
Here the barber was interrupted by the hurried entrance of a young man in military uniform.
"Salaam, barber," he cried. "The barber of Bukkad Bey has fallen sick, and the Bey requires a cunning hand to smooth his cheeks. Whose hand is more cunning than Firouz Ali's? Haste, then, for time presses."
Firouz Ali briefly acknowledged the command, and apologised to his customer for spending less time on his silky beard than its beauty deserved. The secret service man, apparently satisfied with the barber's explanations about his new apprentice, left the shop.
"Woe is me!" exclaimed the barber. "What is to become of you, Aga? I dare not leave you here, and I fear some harm will befall you if you go alone through the streets."
"Take me with you, of course! I can carry your things."
"Mashallah! But Bukkad Bey may know you again."