“Thank you, Mr Sheikh,” said Ben, after his meal; “long life to your honour.”
“What does he say?” asked our host.
“He hopes that your shadow may never grow less, and that you may live to be a blessing to your people for as long as the patriarchs of old.”
The sheikh seemed pleased, and answered,—“Your lion-hunter is a fine fellow.”
I explained that I only said he was as brave as a lion; but the sheikh replied that his bravery must have been proved by his hunting lions—and that he, at all events, would give him an opportunity of exhibiting his prowess.
Ben, tired of sitting so long on his feet, now got up, and, pulling a lock of his hair, walked out of the tent. Not supposing he would be molested, we sat on, wishing to practise our Arabic by talking to the sheikh, who made numerous inquiries about our country and other parts of Europe, evidently being not altogether ignorant of what had been taking place of late in the world. We at last also got up, to take the fresh air outside, when he said—
“Stop, stop! young Nazarenes. You came here to show me the precious treasures you possess; I desire you to exhibit them.”
“Of course we will,” I said, unslinging my telescope.
He looked at it, putting the field-glass to his eye, when he saw his own ugly face reflected in it.
“Bismillah! it’s wonderful,” he cried out.