[Winks and whiffs.
Khedive (whiffing and winking). Will he, though? And that Turkish Bodyguard?
Sultan (warmly). At your service at any moment, my dear Abbas!
Khedive (smoking furiously with closed eyes). Ah! if they would only let me alone, let me rule my subjects in my own Oriental way—as you do yours in Armenia, for example—then, indeed, I could have a good time, and plenty of treasure.
Sultan (significantly). Out of which my little formal trifle of Tribute might come easily and regularly—eh, Abbas?
Khedive. Quite so, Padishah! Bah! These brutal, blundering Britishers don't understand the Art of Government as adapted to Eastern Ideas.
Sultan (soothingly). Well, never mind, Abbas. We'll lay our heads together, anon, now you are here, and—who knows? Meanwhile, let's enjoy ourselves. Something like a "Turkish Occupation" this—eh? And how do you like this Turkish tobacco?
Khedive (blowing vigorously). Smokes easily, and makes a big cloud. In which I fancy I can see myself driving the British Lion out of the Nile Valley at the point of the bayonet.
Sultan (dreamily). And I picture myself comfortably replenishing my Treasury with that Tribute! Like music, ABBAS?
Khedive (uneasily). Ye-e-e-s. Why!