His feet, high-arched
and fine of line, were naked save for silk-embroidered _babooshes_.
The Master realized, as he gazed on this extraordinary old man, whose
dignity was such that even the bizarre _melange_ of colors could not
detract from it, that he was beholding a very different type of Arab
from any he yet had come in contact with.
The aged Sheik salaamed. The Master returned the salutation, then
covered himself and saluted smartly. In a deep, grave voice the old
man said:
"_A'hla wasa'halan_!" (Be ye welcome!)
"_Bikum_!" (I give thee thanks!) replied the Master.
"In Allah's name, who are ye?"
"Franks," the Master said, vastly relieved at this unexpected amity.
Strange contrast with the violent hostility heretofore experienced!
What might it mean? What might be hidden beneath this quiet surface?
Relief and anxiety mingled in the Master's mind. If treachery were
intended, in just this manner would it speak.
"Men of Feringistan?" asked the aged Sheik. "And what do ye here?"
"We be fighting-men, all," replied the Master. He had already noted,
with a thrill of admiration, the wondrous purity of the old man's
Arabic. His use of final vowels after the noun, and his rejection of
the pronoun, which apocope in the Arabic verb renders necessary in
the everyday speech of the people, told the Master he was listening
to some archaic, uncorrupted form of the language.
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