Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 229: what you’re looking at

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

A MOOR THERE WAS. smoked cigarettes in silence until he re-- turned. “The Sheikh say,” Mr. Gibilo inter- preted, “that much as he love his dear friend the Governor of Tangier, he can- not live without engines bicycle. He beg and implore you to leave this one here and he give you for it four hundred dollars. He say you can explain to governor and get him ’nother engines.’ “ Tell the Sheikh,” said Steve, as he rolled another cigarette, “that I am in a really painful position. The Governor of Tangier is my personal and cherished friend and I shall have great difficulty explaining to him. However, I have received such hospitality in Azila, and the Sheikh has inspired me with such feelings of friendship that I cannot refuse him. In fact, I would give him the thing as a gift, were it not so very valuable,- having cost me much money in its acquisition. Tell him he may have it for four hundred dollars, Gi- bilo, and perhaps I can get another for the governor.” This was no sooner ‘teansiaeed than the Sheikh removed his hands from the folds of his burnoose and counted out on the floor the sum of four hundred dollars in Spanish and French bank-notes. The moment Steve had pocketed the money, the Sheikh ordered the motor-cycle brought into the room, that he might not lose a single minute in feeling the joys of possession. More coffee and other drinkables ap- peared; pipes of keef were lit; singers and gimbri players were summoned, and the - Sheikh started to make a night of it. Up- wards of a thousand verses were recited. be- fore I finally fell asleep. | More riding lessons had to be given in the morning, and by the time we were ready to start back to Tangier, the enraptured Moor.. was actually able to go it alone, though a little on the bias. When we all stood in front of the Kasbah, about to ride, the Sheikh solemnly handed Mr. Gibilo the leather bag containing the taxes of Azila, and I could not help remarking how much that bag had shrunk. The Sheikh, however, seemed. to notice nothing of the sort, . He made a lengthy speech in Arabic, and gave Mr. Gibilo a viatized by GOOGle 511 letter to the Governor of Tangier. Mr. (@ibilo looked strangely moody and upset, but Steve gave him no time for words— He embraced the Sheikh with much affec- tion, and I was forced to follow suit. With many Arabic blessings, we set forth. “* Steve,” I asked, when we were well on our way, “ have you noticed the—the weak condition of that bag?” Steve grinned. ‘“Isn’t it queer,” he re- plied, ‘‘ how these pesky revenue things will shrink? I have an idea Gibilo can explain this particular case. Gibilo, what did the agreeable Sheikh say to you—what might be his gladsome message to his nobs?”’ “He have tole the governor,’ said -Mr. Gibilo, ‘somethings like this in letter: Times are very bad indeed. He is very sorry, but after most terrible hard work of | day and night, he have been able to collect only three hundred and sixteen dollars taxes, what are to be found in bag. He say, however, he expect to send five hundred dollar more very soon. “He explain that he have very good luck to buy from—he say just this, Mr. Steve—fvom crazy American man a won- derful engines bicycle, which he is going to take right away to Maraksh and offer to Sultan, whose favorite wife is Sheikh’s num- ber two nice daughter. He say he sure Sul- tan pay him thousand dollar for so wonder- ful engines bicycle, and then he, the Sheikh, will gladly make divide the thousand dol- lar with his dear friend, the Governor of Tangier—”’ Steve rose in his saddle and _ fairly screeched, just like a native. “Bill,” he roared, “ this country will be the death of me yet! Stung—and by an old devil of a Sheikh! Why, he pinched four hundred out of the taxes to pay for the bike—and now he is going to sell it to the Sultan for a thousand—and he will, too! Sheikh!” “The Sheikh,” I couldn’t help remark- ing, “is my idea of a nifty salesman— Some your best territory is the Atlantic Ocean— — as a motor-cycle salesman.” Steve merely swore and glared over his shoulder—in the direction of Azila. It was a sad journey back. Thinking of | how artistically we had been stung, even ~~ eNO THE ( OHIO STATE J} A, NOOK CO