muda backward, and Mohammed ben Idris clapped his hands for servants to clear these brawlers from his house.
Even so, Mohammed ben Idris betrayed no exultation, as Zack selected fabric after fabric, until the stack beside him grew larger than that which yet remained with Mohammed. At times Said and Mohammed quibbled about the price, until Zack nodded his complete satisfaction.
"It's a heap easier to tote dese things dan to tote a mule er a camel." Far be it from Mohammed to taunt Hamuda or Achmet, who leaned against a post exchanging guttural anathemas. Said never looked their way because there were two of them, and only one of him; Said was a peaceful man.
At length Zack grew weary; he rose, yawned, and jingled the coins in his pockets. Mohammed ben Idris fawned upon the noble Black Effendi, who would now settle their rich score.
"Huh! I sho' is had a nice rest. In de name er Gawd, what is dat nigger doin'?" His back had been turned, or Zack would have noticed it before—a skinny brown man with a shallow skull cap and a brass soup-plate with a semi-circular chunk bit out of the edge. The skinny man had walked up to a chunky fellow in the next shop, stuck that soup-plate under his chin, so that the bit-out place fitted his neck. Then he began to
