Part 36 (2/2)

”Och! ye spalpeen!” shouted Ted, flinging him off as if he had been a feather. Then, sinking back, he added, ”Come on; you'll not ketch me slaipin' again, me honey!”

The amused Moor accepted the invitation, and returned to the charge. He punched him, baked him, boxed him, and battered him, and finally, drenching him with ice-cold water, swathed him in a sheet, twisted a white turban on his head, and turned him out like a piece of brand-new furniture, highly polished, into the drying-room.

”How yoos like it?” asked Rais Ali, as they lay in the Turkish-corpse stage of the process, calmly sipping tea.

”It's plis'nt,” replied Ted, ”uncommon plis'nt, but raither surprisin'.”

”Ha,” responded Rais.

At this point their attention was turned to the little fat Moor who had been their fellow-bather, and to whom Ted in his undivided attention to the thin Moor had paid little regard.

”Musha!” whispered Ted, ”it's the capting of the port.”

The captain of the port it was, and if that individual had known who it was that lay cooling within a few yards of him, he would probably have brought our nautical hero's days to a speedy termination. But although he had seen Ted Flaggan frequently under the aspect of a British seaman, he had never before seen him in the character of a half-boiled Moor.

Besides, having been thoroughly engrossed and lost in the enjoyment of his own bath, he had paid no attention to those around him.

”Turn yoos face well to de wall,” whispered Rais Ali. ”He great ha.s.s; hims no see yoo.”

”Great `ha.s.s,' indade; he's not half such a `ha.s.s' as I am for comin' in here,” muttered the sailor, as he huddled on his Arab garments, keeping his face carefully turned away from the captain of the port, who lay with his eyes shut in a state of dreamy enjoyment.

In a few minutes the two friends paid for their bath, and went out.

”I feels for all the world like a bird or a balloon,” said Ted, as his companion hurried him along; ”if I don't git some ballast soon in the shape o' grub, I'll float away intirely.”

Rais Ali made no reply, but turned into a baker's shop, where he purchased two rolls. Then hurrying on down several narrow streets, the houses of which met overhead, and excluded much of the light of day, he turned into a small Moorish coffee-house, which at first seemed to the sailor to be absolutely dark, but in a few minutes his eyes became accustomed to it, and he saw that there were several other customers present.

They were nearly all in Arab costume, and sat cross-legged on two benches which ran down either side of the narrow room. Each smoked a long pipe, and sipped black coffee out of a very diminutive cup, while the host, a half negro, stood beside a charcoal fire, in the darkness of the far interior, attending to an array of miniature tin coffee-pots, which exactly matched the cups in size. A young Moor, with a red fez, sat tw.a.n.ging a little guitar, the body of which was half a cocoa-nut, covered with parchment.

This musician produced very dismal tones from its two strings, but the Arabs seemed content, and sat in silent, not to say dignified, enjoyment of it.

”Eat away now,” whispered Rais to Flaggan, as they entered--”cross yoo legs, look solemn, an' hold yoos tongue. Me goes git shave.”

Obedient to instructions--as British seamen always are--Ted took his place on one of the narrow benches, and, crossing his legs _a la Turk_, began with real zest to eat the rolls which his friend had provided for him, and to sip the cup, or thimbleful, of coffee which mine host silently, by order of the same friend, placed at his side.

Meanwhile, Rais Ali submitted himself to the hands of the host, who was also a barber, and had his head and face shaved without soap--though a little cold water was used.

During this operation a boy ran hastily into the cafe and made an announcement in Arabic, which had the surprising effect of startling the Arabs into undignified haste, and induced Rais Ali to overturn his coffee on the barber's naked feet, while he seized a towel and dried himself violently.

”What's to do, old feller?” demanded Flaggan, with a huge bite of bread almost stopping up his mouth.

”De British fleet am in sight!” shrieked Rais Ali.

”Ye don't mean that?” cried Ted, in his turn becoming excited. ”Then it's time that _I_ was out o' the city!”

”Yis, away! go to yous cave! Only death for Breetish in Algiers--off!

away!”

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