We were tiring of the Pyramids. Mahomed started on the other bank—Napoleon, Napoleon’s towers, Napoleon’s granaries, Napoleon’s fortifications.
Now there is a limit to all things. We could stand Moses Island; we could listen to the accounts of Pharaohs, Pyramids, Sphinxes, and Mrs. Sphinxes. But Napoleon! Napoleon hadn’t even known Australia.
However, Mahomed was wound up. He was inspired. He was even intrepid. What if the infidel dogs did cut down his baksheesh; they should have the whole story. So the British (and the Australasians) in Egypt went to the wall. Napoleon reigned. He got it all.
It was then that our youngest subaltern put in an easy under-arm, and Mahomed hit out!
“Yes, we know all that about Napoleon,” said the sub., “but what about Sir George Reid?”
We waited breathless. Was it a boundary hit or a catch at point?
“Oh,” said Mahomed, “I know all about Saint George Reid. He a great man. There is his mound over there.”
“Ah!” we exclaimed. And then, with happy inspiration, someone asked, “Is he dead?”
“Oh, yes; dead a hundred years. Saint George Reid, a very good and great man. He has a fine tomb. If a sick man goes there, he gets cured quickly.”
We tipped Mahomed generously.