Suddenly Wycherley utters an exclamation.
“What do you see?” asks his companion, in doubt as to whether the other has made a pleasing discovery or the opposite, for he remembers the Spanish cigar girl and Wycherley has not yet renounced his claims in that quarter, though only the night before paying gallant attention to a banker’s daughter.
“Observe yonder camel and his riders,” replies Claude.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE OLD GAME OF THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.
“Jove! there he is, sure enough, and riding a camel too. What is come over Samson Cereal, the sedate king of the wheat pit? I am amazed!” declares the Canadian.
“My dear fellow, you should be surprised at nothing here. I tell you it’s in the air. Haven’t I seen one of the most learned professors of Yale perched on the hump of a camel, grinning from ear to ear; while his companion, a preacher whose name is a household word from the Atlantic to the Pacific, whose sermons are weekly printed wherever the English language is spoken, trotted up and down this street on a diminutive donkey, his feet scraping the ground. I’d have given something for a snap-shot camera at that time. Look at our friend—he’s enjoying the lark as much as would a schoolboy.”
“Very true, and under ordinary circumstances I can see how this might be; but to-night he is to face a crisis in his affairs, and carry out his own scheme for defeating Aroun Scutari.”
“Just so, Aleck, and give him credit for appearing quite natural. His friends are here to take in the Street, and as a Chicagoan Samson has to join them in the frolic. Here they come up the aisle again. Did you ever see such a sight as when the camel runs, jolting them out of breath. It’s an hilarious old time the boys have in this place. Everybody grows young again.”
“Let us descend. The time for action draws near.”