—Times Correspondent at Constantinople.
Sultan (amicably). Welcome, dear Abbas! Take a seat, and a pipe—take anything you have a mind to, and "make yourself at home," as the accursed Giaours say.
Khedive (squatting). Thanks, my dear—Suzerain! Yildiz Kiosk feels, indeed, very home-like. More than my own Cairo does—when Cromer's there. This Nichan-i-Imtiaz Order is really very becoming. Pity you and I, Abdul, have to take "orders" from anybody west of Alexandria!
Sultan (sotto voce). And why should we?
Khedive (sulkily). Well, the sons of burnt fathers have got the upper hand of the Faithful, somehow—confound them!
Sultan (reading). "Intelligence received here of late, from trustworthy quarters in Egypt, indicates that the Khedive's journey is to be made the point of departure for a grande action diplomatique against British influence in the Valley of the Nile." That's from the Times, my Abbas!
Khedive (moodily). Humph! Wish the Egyptian quarters were "trustworthy." Grande action diplomatique? Quite makes one's mouth water!
Sultan. Doesn't it? The same infernal—but influential—news-sheet says: "The young Khedive knows that not only would he meet with a personally kindly reception, but that the grievances he is known to be anxious to pour out would fall on ready ears." There, at least, the Giaour "rag" is right. Pour away, my Abbas! "Keep your eye on your father—or Suzerain—and he will pull you through."