But there were few departures, although many of the visitors who had long distances to go, especially those from Mena House, discussed the advisability of leaving before this unique storm should have grown even worse. The general tendency, though, was markedly gregarious; safety seemed to be with the crowd, amid the gaiety, where music and laughter were, rather than in the sand-swept streets.
"Guess we've outstayed our welcome!" confided an American lady to Sime. "Egypt wants to drive us all home now."
"Possibly," he replied with a smile. "The season has run very late, this year, and so this sort of thing is more or less to be expected."
The orchestra struck up a lively one-step, and a few of the more enthusiastic dancers accepted the invitation, but the bulk of the company thronged around the edge of the floor, acting as spectators.
Cairn and Sime wedged a way through the heterogeneous crowd to the American Bar.
"I prescribe a 'tango,'" said Sime.
"A 'tango' is—?"
"A 'tango,'" explained Sime, "is a new kind of cocktail sacred to this buffet. Try it. It will either kill you or cure you."
Cairn smiled rather wanly.
"I must confess that I need bucking up a bit," he said: "that confounded sand seems to have got me by the throat."