she wore a necklace—and a smile. When Zack glimpsed Top-Knot, he felt reasonably sure that all blood had been wiped off the moon. Top-Knot had been forgiven; his face radiated peace and good will. That's what encouraged Zack. But he saw nothing in their hands which resembled a present. None of those negroes could have concealed a present in his pocket—for nakedly obvious reasons. "Huh! Dey ain't got nary present; I knowed dem niggers wuz foolin' de white folks."
The drum beat and the courbee twanged. The Golo envoys salaamed. The interpreter stepped forward, pointed proudly to the woman, and began his Arabic harangue. Lyttleton listened with grave attention, but Zack wasn't paying 'em no mind. That youngest woman kept smiling at him, black, statuesque, and happy. Top-Knot smiled, the Golos smiled; it was certainly up to Zack to smile back. He did so. The interpreter ended with a great flourish; Lyttleton turned and looked at Zack. "Whar's my present?" Zack asked. Lyttleton shook his head, and led the Colonel apart to whisper,
"The sultan says that one of his women has found favor in the Black Effendi's eyes, so he sends her to him as a royal gift."
"The hell he does."
