and listened to Mahomet's noisy chaffering. Piaster by piaster Mahomet advanced his bid to eleven, while Ibrahim dropped doggedly to fifty. Suddenly they struck a bargain—a quick, decisive, violent bargain. Mahomet thrust the sheikh aside with—"Eighteen piaster"—triumphantly depositing the purchase in his master's lap. Sheikh Ibrahim lifted both hands to heaven, and burst into bewailing; he was being robbed, his master would be beggared; he would appeal to the Mudir. Mahomet confronted him with a fierce glint in his eye.
Zack thought they were going to fight. He ducked backward into the hotel and watched them through the door-crack. Colonel Spottiswoode jerked himself up to intervene, but Reinhardt proceeded calmly to select another feather until the Colonel had acquired a lapful, and nobody slaughtered. Having cowed old Ibrahim into a succession of moans, Mahomet named his own figures.
"Stop, stop, Mahomet! That's plenty," broke in the Colonel. Yet the Berberine bought two or three more before his master could put on the brake, then counted their purchases in front of Ibrahim. These Mahomet wrapped swiftly and handed to Zack—"Take away! Take away!"
"How much do I owe him?" asked the Colonel, opening his purse.
