IN CAIRO STREET.
“New York,” Philip answered.
“All right, all right; I make him ver’ preety. N, big N, e, w; Y, a big Y, o, and r, and k. There. Now I write you my own beautiful name. See!” and he added his own name with rapid strokes.
“Très bien!” said Harry, jokingly.
“Aha, vous parlez Français, eh? Et moi, aussi! Où apprenez-vous le Français?”
“À Paris,” said Harry, a little taken aback. “Je le parle un peu, mais je le comprend.”
“Ah, ça va bien! Regardez; voici l’Arabique.”
Turning the card over, the accomplished scribe traced the graceful curves, and handed Philip the card, saying, “I can write heem as well in four language.”
Philip put down two nickels, and waved his hand when the man looked up in surprise.