_Cous cous_ had given way to good old English bacon and eggs and
marmalade on the breakfast table of the Sheik Amut Ben Butler.
"Chief," said the Sheik half-heartedly to Verbeena, slipping a piece
of bacon to his big, dangerous Persian hound that Verbeena was in the
habit of kicking around so freely, "would you mind if I had a friend
come and stay for a bit?"
"What kind of a character may this be?" demanded Verbeena.
"A literary light, one nearly as large as a moon. He sells an awful
lot of books."
"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Queen Verbeena readily inducting the
atmosphere.
"Robert," the Sheik paused because he was very sure of his grounds,
"Hitchings."
"Literary men," said Verbeena, "are usually terrible loafers and like
late breakfasts but as to Mr. Hitchings I am agreeable. I am fully
confident as regards Mr. Hitchings, I don't mind saying. He is always
interesting. I think it was reading his works which started me on this
trip."
"It rejoices me to have you so inclined," said the Sheik. "And Bob
will be pleased."
"That's up to him," smiled Verbeena, taking a heavy smash at the
marmalade. "Although I have every confidence that he will give little
trouble. From his tales of passion I am certain he is well-behaved.
But in view of the event I think, Amut, we should really move to a
larger oasis. It's possible he carries his adjectives with him."
"Wonderfully thoughtful," murmured the Sheik.
"What did you say?" asked Verbeena.
"I said, 'Hello, kid!'"
"Hello," said Verbeena.
To the Sheik her affability was immeasurably amazing.
* * * * *
The Ben Butlers had moved to Oasis No. 12. This was a suburb of
Oudjda from whence, if you were out of things, you could always get
breakfast at Guercif.
For three days Mr. Hitchings had been taking his meals and notes with
the Ben Butlers.
His observations of the Sheik and Verbeena had moved his heart to
pity. So that he had very little left when the Sheik was carried in by
two men. A horse had refused to be trained and the Sheik A. Ben Butler
was therefore invested with six broken ribs.
He breathed like a dice-box in full cry.
[Illustration: THE ALLEGED MR. HITCHINGS.]
Verbeena prodded the Sheik somewhat and, deciding that he wouldn't
die, came into the outer tent and caused Mr. Hitchings to pause in
the taking of his notes by pulling his chair from under him.
"Did you wish to speak to me?" said Mr. Hitchings under the chair and
circumstances.
"A little, Robert. Who, you know, after all, is he?"
"You mean Sheik Amut?"
"I certainly," said Verbeena, "am not discussing Velasquez, Amerigo
Vespucci or Jack Dempsey. The yellow hair and the black whiskers are
noticeably incompatible, don't you think?"
"To be sure," assented Mr. Hitchings. "Well then----" and he got red
in the face. "I'll tell you. It was this way:
"In the first place he hates the English."
"I hadn't noticed that," said Verbeena.
"But he does--really. And why?"
Verbeena lifted her clubbed curls well off her ears.
"Why?"
For some reason or other she saw that Mr. Hitchings looked greatly
distressed.
"Because--well, you see, his father was the Earl of Glucose but not a
sticker for the proprieties. I might even say he drank freely. That
was not a habit clearly to take into the Sahara. And when thus
bedizened he sometimes failed in courtesy. Especially toward his wife.
She was Spanish but unquestionably all her life long had walked
normally. She was a bit of a Moor too. But new to sand-dunes. One
evening the Earl of Glucose feeling like kicking about a bit selected
his wife. He busied himself thus for some time.
"Then it would seem he kicked her so far that he couldn't find her nor
could she find herself and thus it was she happened upon the suburban
oasis of Sheik Ben Butler, senior.
"A boy was born. Kicking just like his father.
"The Sheik did not send her to his harem but kept the Spanish lady
with him hanging right around his neck until she died in his arms. Not
promptly but nearly so.
"The truth now," said the distinguished novelist, "is on the point of
bursting forth!
"Amut is that woman's son!"
"Mr. Hitchings!"
"I don't wonder that you are surprised. Amut was too when he heard
it. We all were! You see my father was in America at the time and the
Sheik was in China and so they met. By the same chain of
circumstances, Amut and I were both educated in Siberia. You
understand? But even if you don't, I don't either. Still it is
explanatory, is it not?"
"Mr. Hitchings!"
"Beg pardon."
"Let me get you a fresh green carnation."
She pinned it on him. They grow freely in the desert.
But she said emphatically:
"The story, sir, is wholly unworthy of you."
"Good heavens!" said Mr. Hitchings in ineffable alarm. "This isn't my
stuff! How could you think it? How ridiculous of me to have permitted
myself to be persuaded by Amut to try and put this over! I regret the
attempt abysmally. Right now, hear me, fair lady: I wash my hands of
the Hull thing!"
"Friendship may excuse this conduct of yours," said Verbeena coldly.
"But how, if you are also English, is it that Amut makes a friend of
you?"
"Now, there's something else again, isn't it? Just as if a rebellious
Sheik around here for an instant would make a bosom friend of a
Frenchman. It's a desperately silly story all the way through and I
surely apologize and--O--what?"
Verbeena had seized both hands and just wouldn't let go.
"Forget it," she was saying. "I've something much more important."
Her eyes flamed.
"Will you--O, will you, my dear Mr. Hitchings, do a moving picture for
me?"
"I most certainly will," replied Mr. Hitchings, "immediately--of a man
packing his grip."
"But I beg of you, who is he? For God's sake, listen to a woman's
plea! Solve this mystery of me lord's true identity!"
By this time, however, Mr. Hitchings had engaged the drawing room of a
camel and was navigating the Sahara by means of the good, old,
honorable North Star.