“It’s plis’nt,” replied Ted, “uncommon plis’nt, but raither surprisin’.”
“Ha,” responded Rais.
At this point their attention was turned to the little fat Moor who had been their fellow-bather, and to whom Ted in his undivided attention to the thin Moor had paid little regard.
“Musha!” whispered Ted, “it’s the capting of the port.”
The captain of the port it was, and if that individual had known who it was that lay cooling within a few yards of him, he would probably have brought our nautical hero’s days to a speedy termination. But although he had seen Ted Flaggan frequently under the aspect of a British seaman, he had never before seen him in the character of a half-boiled Moor. Besides, having been thoroughly engrossed and lost in the enjoyment of his own bath, he had paid no attention to those around him.
“Turn yoos face well to de wall,” whispered Rais Ali. “He great hass; hims no see yoo.”
“Great ‘hass,’ indade; he’s not half such a ‘hass’ as I am for comin’ in here,” muttered the sailor, as he huddled on his Arab garments, keeping his face carefully turned away from the captain of the port, who lay with his eyes shut in a state of dreamy enjoyment.
In a few minutes the two friends paid for their bath, and went out.
“I feels for all the world like a bird or a balloon,” said Ted, as his companion hurried him along; “if I don’t git some ballast soon in the shape o’ grub, I’ll float away intirely.”
Rais Ali made no reply, but turned into a baker’s shop, where he purchased two rolls. Then hurrying on down several narrow streets, the houses of which met overhead, and excluded much of the light of day, he turned into a small Moorish coffee-house, which at first seemed to the sailor to be absolutely dark, but in a few minutes his eyes became accustomed to it, and he saw that there were several other customers present.