"In his reception hall, saidi," replied the slave respectfully.
"Alms, for the love of Allah!" whined the beggar for the benefit of a passer-by. And then to the slave, in an undertone: "Very well, Musa. I shall remember this."
And with a surprizingly jaunty gait, the hunchback strode down the main street of Tekrit, and then, turning down a side alley, bore directly toward the great house of the Shareef. But instead of waiting to be announced, the beggar thrust the porter aside, stalked down the hall, across the courtyard, and into the Shareef's presence.
"Old man," demanded the Shareef, "who admitted you?"
"I admitted myself, saidi," replied the beggar. "And as soon as your men withdraw," he continued, indicating the porter and two slaves who were advancing to seize him, "I will say more."
The Shareef gasped, turned the color of an old saddle; then, meeting for a moment the grimy wanderer's fierce eye, relented. The man was obviously mad, reflected the Shareef; some saint or holy man whose wits were in Allah's keeping.
"I will see him, Kasim," he said, dismissing with a gesture the astonished porter and his companions.
"Now, old man, what is it?"
"Prayer, and the Peace, Cousin of the Prophet!" began the hunchback, "I have come to make a wager."
"And what would you wager, holy man?"