Motee sang again; but the accompaniment was wild and irregular, and the Khan at last threw down the sitar.
"It will not do, Meer Sahib, after the fatigue (a hiccup) and the trouble I have had (hiccup) all day, shouting and bullying these rascally Pindharees (hiccup). How can it be expected, Meer Sahib, that I, Ghuffoor Khan, the leader of three thousand horse, should play and sing like a Goweya? By Alla! I will not (hiccup). But these hiccups, Meer Sahib, what is to cure them?"
"Some more wine, Khan Sahib; nothing but liquor can cure them. And there is more; there is still another cup."
"Then give me all!" cried the Khan; "I will drink it standing like a kafir Feringhee—may their sisters be defiled, ay, and their mothers too! Nevertheless, as I said, I will serve them and drink among them, and none shall drink more than Ghuffoor Khan. Thou saidst they drink standing; and what do they say?"
"Hip, hip, hip!" said I; "I learned the words from a vagabond who had been a Khidmutgar among them, and had seen their wild orgies."
"What, hip, hip, hip! those are the words, eh? I wonder what they mean."
"They are an invocation to their Prophet, I believe," said I, "much as we say 'Bismilla ir ruhman ir ruheem!'"
"I do not doubt it, Meer Sahib. Now help me to rise, for the stuff is in my brain, and the tent goeth round about; help me to rise, I say, and I will quaff the last drop, both as a true Moslem and as a Feringhee. Ha! said I, not well?"
"Excellently well, great Khan," said I, as I helped him to his feet. "Now, here is the wine."
"Bismilla!" shouted the Khan, "hip, hip, hip!" and he drained the cup to the bottom; his head sunk on his breast, his eyes rolled wildly; he made a desperate attempt to rush forward, and fell at his full length upon the ground.