woode, look! Look at this! The Seven and Seventy Rings of Badar Khan!"
The Sirdar sat down, trembling; and Colonel Spottiswoode began to catch the infection of his excitement. They leaned over the table, put their heads together, and straightened out the knotted links of brass. It took shape as a necklace, curiously wrought, an interlacing of many-sized rings. Zack shuffled around from one side of the table to the other; neither of the white men looked up. Lyttleton Bey and McDonald hurried in. They had heard of Zack's disappearance, but seeing him standing there so quietly, at once transferred their curiosity to the recovered heirloom. Other officers arrived, some in khaki, some in linens, just as the disquieting news had found them. But a harmless negro in the Sirdar's quarters was far less thrilling than a possible Prophet strewing fire in Omdurman. So they crowded to the Sirdar's table and paid no attention to Old Reliable.
"Huh! Now ain't dat jes like white folks—makin' all dat humbug over some skeeter bar rings? Huh!"
No attention being paid to him, and there being nobody to talk with, Old Reliable straggled off, like a camel that slipped his hobble-string. Down the avenue he swaggered, looking over his shoulder to see if the white folks were going to
