“That lubberly nigger,” (we are pursuing the train of reflections that passed through the mind of the Arab sheik)—“old Nick burn him!—thinks I’ve got more than my share of this lucky windfall. He wants these boys bad, I know that. The Sultan of Timbuctoo has given him a commission to procure white slaves, that’s clear; and boy slaves, if he can, that’s equally certain. This lot would suit him to a T. I can tell that he don’t care much for the old salt he has tricked me out of by his superior skill at that silly game of helga. No; his Majesty of the mud-walled city don’t want such as him. It’s boys he’s after, as can wait smartly at his royal table, and give éclat to his ceremonial entertainments. Well, he can have these three at a price.
“Ay; but a big price,” continued the cunning old trafficker in human flesh, after a short reflection, “a whopping big price. The togs we’ve stripped from them were no common clothing. Good broadcloth in their jackets, and bullion bands on their caps. They must be the sons of great sheiks. At Wedinoin the old Jew will redeem them. So, too, the merchants at Susa; or maybe I had best take them on to Mogador, where the consul of their country will come down handsomely for such as they. Yes; that’s the trick!”
At this parting scene the thoughts of Fatima’s husband were equally occupied with trading speculations, in which he was assisted by the amiable Fatima herself.
Translated also into English, they would have read as follows:—
“The Sultan would give threescore of his best blacks for those three tripe-coloured brats.”
“I know it, Fatty dear; he’s told me so himself.”
“Then, why not get them, and bring ’em along?”
“Ah, that’s easy to say. How can I? You know they belong to the old Arab by right, at least he claims them, though not very fairly, for if we hadn’t come up in good time they would have taken him instead of his taking them; no matter for that, they’re his now by the laws of the Saara.”
“Bother the laws of the Saara!” exclaimed Fatima, with a disdainful toss of her head, and a scornful turning up of her two protruding teeth; “all stuff and nonsense! There’s no law in the Saara; and if there was, you know we’re never coming into it again. The price you’d get for those three hobbledehoys would keep us comfortable for the balance of our lives; and we need never track the Devil’s desert again. Take ’em by force from old yellow-face, if you can’t get ’em otherwise; but you may ‘chouse’ him out of them at a game of helga, you know you can beat him at that. If he won’t play again, try your hand at bargaining against your blacks, offer him two to one.”
Thus counselled by the partner of his bosom, the black sheik, instead of bidding the saleik aloum to his Arab confrère, raised his voice aloud, and demanded from the latter a parley upon business of importance.