‘Very well,’ returned the master, ‘let him reckon up how long he has been in my service.’
‘That won’t do,’ replied Mohammed, ‘I want my strip of skin, as we agreed in the contract.’
Seeing there was no help for it, the master cut a bit of skin, and gave it to Mohammed, who went off at once to his uncle.
‘Now we are rich, dear uncle,’ cried he; ‘we will sell our cows and sheep and go to a new country. This one is no longer the place for us.’
The sheep were soon sold, and the two comrades started on their travels. That night they reached some Bedouin tents, where they had supper with the Arabs. Before they lay down to sleep, Mohammed called the owner of the tent aside. ‘Your greyhound will eat my strip of leather,’ he said to the Arab.
‘No; do not fear.’
‘But supposing he does?’
‘Well, then, I will give him to you in exchange,’ replied the Arab.
Mohammed waited till everyone was fast asleep, then he rose softly, and tearing the bit of skin in pieces, threw it down before the greyhound, setting up wild shrieks as he did so.
‘Oh, master, said I not well that your dog would eat my thong?’