Zack grinned as he slipped the easy money into his pocket, "Dis place ain't a patchin' to Vicksburg. Lordee! I never see so many niggers wid so many diffunt kinds o' night shirts on."
"Aren't they curious?" the Colonel laughed. "Now, we're going to a country where they don't wear anything at all. You better be getting ready for the train."
Spottiswoode glanced around to see if anyone observed him before trying to use his first lesson in Arabic. Then he clapped his hands and shouted, "Wa-heed!"
"Here, Effendi," and Mahomet Mansour ran from across the street so promptly that Zack laughed.
"Come." The Colonel turned into the hotel with his servant. At the door he stopped, "Zack! call your man and get the baggage ready."
Zack adjusted the lapels of his coat and glanced across to the café, where Said was sitting, doing nothing. It would be so much fun to stir up Said, and Zack felt mightily tickled with the idea of calling a man who had to come. Zack Foster liked this town. Just as the Colonel had looked around, so did Zack, to be sure that none of his white folks were noticing. He grinned and grinned, then wiped the grins off his face, and pitching his voice at the full, Zack yelled, "Whar he? Whar he?"
