"Atech—fire!" said the Turk, pointing to his back.
"Yes," said Radford. "Hottish—I should say it was. It will be better presently."
"Turkish is very like English, sir," observed my man to me. "You see that he says it is 'hottish.'"
"Nonsense!" I replied. "He says 'atech—fire.'"
"'Atech,' or 'hottish,' it don't make much difference, sir; the plaster is raising a beautiful blister. I should not be surprised if Mohammed left off complaining about his haches and pains after this. I don't think that as how any other Turks will ask me to doctor them again!"
Radford was wrong. The sound of Mohammed's groans attracted the Kurd's attention: accompanied by the Armenian, he came to the side of the sufferer. They minutely inspected the plaster.
"It is a wonder!" said the Kurd. "The plaster is cold, but Mohammed says he is on fire! Where has the Frank put the flames? I should like a plaster too." Turning to Radford, he held out his hand for one.
"Plasters are for sick people, not for men in a good state of health," I observed.
"But I am not well," said the Kurd.
"What is the matter with you?"