“Ho yis, wery quiet.”
“Where is your bride, Ali? I should like so much to see her.”
“Her’s at ’ome, safe,” said Rais Ali, touching a formidable key which was stuck in his silken girdle.
“What! have you locked her up?”
“Yis—’bleeged to do so for keep her safe.”
“Not alone, I hope?” said Mrs Langley.
“No, not ’lone. Her’s got a bootiflul cat, an’ I means buy her a little nigger boy soon.”
Having arranged that Mrs Langley was to visit his bride on her way to Sidi Omar’s wedding the following day, Rais Ali set out on his mission, accompanied by Mr Flaggan.
The Irishman soon discovered that the Moor was a conceited coxcomb and a barefaced boaster, and ere long began to suspect that he was an arrant coward. He was, however, good-humoured and chatty, and Ted, being in these respects like-minded, rather took a fancy to him, and slily encouraged his weakness.
“Ye must have seed a power o’ sarvice in the navy, now,” he said, with an air of interest; “how came you to git into it?”