“Yes,” said Harry; “from Bash, a head; da, without; zook, brains. So called, as the ‘Old Skekarry’ said, because they live on their wits: lucus a non lucendo.”
“My dear fellow,” remonstrated Howard, “have I come all this way from conventional England to the wilds of Africa to hear once more that dreadful quotation? Go on; give us Sic vos non vobis, and follow it up with Tempora mutantur nos et mutamur in illis, or any other little House-of-Commons delicacy; only don’t say et nos, as some of the senators, who cannot, alas! Be flogged for it, often do.”
Harry apologised, and they now approached the English officers’ quarters, the Egyptian flag marking that of the General commanding the expedition.
“Wait here a little,” said Howard; “I will see if the chief is disengaged and able to see you,” and he entered the tent.
Harry sat down on a rude lounging chair he found just outside under the shade of a palm-tree, and tried to reflect, not with any great success. He was thoroughly bewildered with the events of the morning, following the variations of hope and despondency produced by the near approach to the object of his journey, and then finding it elude him, which had occurred twice in the last few weeks. Without knowing it, he was becoming a practical fatalist, inclined to do what seemed best at the moment, and let things slide, forming no plans for a future which was so very uncertain. Not a bad state of mind this for a hot country, where worry of mind is especially trying. Perhaps that is why Asiatics encourage it so much.
It was not long before Howard came to the tent door and beckoned Harry in. On entering, he saw the General seated at a table covered with writing materials, finishing a despatch for which an orderly was waiting. He was dressed in a sort of loose tunic, with pantaloons and riding-boots, and the sword which trailed by the side of his chair was straight. A pith helmet stood on the table before him, and altogether he looked like an Englishman, and not at all like a Pasha, as from the name Harry somewhat absurdly expected.
Presently Hicks Pasha looked up, and Harry at once recognised one who is born for command. There was no mistaking the bright eye, which seemed to look into the man it rested upon; the firm and manly features, the will expressed in the strong nervous hand. But it is in vain to attempt to explain this, which at the same time everybody can understand. The school-boy with his master, the soldier with his officer—every subordinate knows instinctively if it is of any use “trying it on.” Not that he looked like one who would be harsh or tyrannical. On the contrary, his face was lit up by a courteous smile as Howard introduced his newly-found friend.
“Glad to see you,” said the General, offering his hand. “The country is in a disturbed state for travellers, and I fear that you will hardly get out of it without some risk. The river is still open to Berber, and you might get across from there to Suakim. But I cannot promise to help you much.”
“It is not my object to get out of the country at present,” said Harry; “quite the reverse. I thought that perhaps you might be able to make use of me in some way, and wished to volunteer my services. I can make myself understood in Arabic, if that is any use.”