“Och! lots o’ people, but few of ’em tuk a fancy to spake to me, an’ whin they did I shuck me head, an’ touched me lips, so they thought I was dumb.”
“But why you comes to town?” asked Rais Ali, in a remonstrative tone.
“Just bekaise I’m hungry,” replied the seaman, with a smile. “Ye see, Ally Babby, the gale of day before yesterday sint a breaker into the cave that washed away all the purvisions ye brought me last, so it was aither come here and look for ’ee or starve—for the British fleet has apparently changed its mind, and ain’t goin’ to come here after all. I meant to go d’rec’ to yer house, but knowin’ yer fondness for baths, and rememberin’ that this was yer day, I thought it betther to cruise about here till you hove in sight.”
While Ted Flaggan was relating all this, his friend’s countenance expressed alternately doubt, disapproval, anxiety, amusement, and perplexity.
When he had finished, Rais informed him that instead of the fleet having changed its mind, there was great probability of its sudden appearance at any moment. He also mentioned the arrest of the British consul and the boat’s crew of the “Prometheus,” and explained that the most energetic measures were being taken to place the city in a state of defence.
“Oho!” exclaimed Flaggan, in a low tone, “that clears up wan or two things that’s been puzzlin’ me. I’ve bin thinkin’ that the ship I saw lave the port was British, but the weather bein’ thick I cudn’t quite make out her colours. Then, I’ve been sore perplexed to account for the flocks of armed Arabs that have bin steerin’ into the town of late, an’ whin I passed the gates this mornin’ I was troubled too, to make out what was all the bustle about. It’s all clare as ditch-wather now.—But what’s to be done with me, Rais? for if the cownsl an’ the British gin’rally are in limbo, it’s a bad look-out for Ted Flaggan, seein’ that I’m on the black list already.”
Rais Ali appeared to ponder the case for a few seconds.
“Come an’ have one bath,” he said, with sudden animation; “after that we go brikfast togidder.”
“Av we cud ‘brikfust’ fust, Ally Babby, it would be plisinter,” returned the hungry seaman; “but, I say, I dursn’t go into the bath, ’cause what would they think of a man wid dark-brown arms, legs, an’ face, an’ a pink body? Sure, they’d take me for a spy or a madman, an’ hand me over to the p’leece!”
“Wash here, fust,” said Rais, leading his friend to a small fountain in a retired angle of the court. “Ebbery body here too bizzy ’joyin’ theirselfs to look to yoo. An’ des corner dark. Me stan’ ’tween you an’ dem.”