Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 224: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HE. native inhabitants of Tangier, Morocco, seem to have an ingrowing _ aversion to the light of day. They simply hate to have windows to their houses. The room in which Steve Marsh and I lodged with our amiable Moorish host,. Mr. Gibilo, was entered through a hole in the wall, a very small and forbidding hole. It took me some weeks to become ac- customed to this delightful abode and feel easy in it, to say nothing of breathing in it. But in time the only annoyance I ex- perienced was an inability to tell whether it was day or night, whether Mr. Gibilo was preparing breakfast or supper. As both meals were thé same, consisting of Moor- ish tea and cigarettes, I always had to in- quire just which we were about to have. One morning—I had duly inquired and found that it was morning—I awoke to find Steve sitting up on his Oriental rug and watching the Moor’s operations with no great favor. ‘‘ Gibilo,” he finally burst out, “your Moorish menu may be all right from an artistic viewpoint, but in my coun- try you would be instantly hung, drawn, and bisected!” Mr. Gibilo, as usual, merely grinned from eas@to ear, and went on with his nefarious preparations. He dumped a plentiful sup- ply of green tea into the pot, covered it with mint leaves, and packed down the concoction with great lumps of sugar. Then he grabbed the kettle from the charcoal fire and poured boiling water over the lumps of sugar. He let it draw for a min- ute; then our breakfast was ready. While we were sipping our tea, we heard loor cre AS ff “A Eugene A. Claney some one groping up the narrow stone stairs, Then, outside the hole, a female voice indulged in some Arabic words. Getting up, Mr. Gibilo crawled through the hole and there ensued a noise resem- bling a violent barrage—which merely im- plied that two Moors, a lady and a gen- tleman, were holding quiet converse in Ara- bic. At last the din of battle subsided. We heard the lady groping her way down the stairs, and Mr. Gibilo crawled back through the hole. | ‘“Gibilo,” said Steve, “I do not wish to intrude, but may I ask who and why is your lady friend?” “This lady,” the Moor replied, “ she is number-one wife of my dear friend Ham- zah, what is same as own brother to me. She bring me very bad news indeed! She have come to say that Hamzah is very sick. Hamzah, he have very good job. He is— what you call it—he is private go-it-be- tween for Moorish governor, who want him now to work. Hamzah, he cannot, and him afraid him lose him job. He want me to come talk what he do. It is very bad, this, and I am very sorry for my friend Hamzah.” Here Mr. Gibilo lit a pipe of keef and began to wail to himself lugubriously. ‘“Gibilo,” Steve asked, after a Silence, ‘“do you mind telling me just what line of graft your friend Hamzah follows? What go-it-between business is the governor keen on at present?” . ‘“Hamzah,” replied the Moor, “he is very faithful man. He do lots of jobs for governor. He have kill lots of mens 506 Digitized by (ere) gle es CLYOO S Original from (C(O) CO THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY