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The second is Monsieur Sinbad, Mr. Clarence Bulbul's man, whom we all hate Clarence for keeping. Mr. Sinbad is a foreigner, speaking no known language, but a mixture of every European dialect so that he may be an Italian brigand, or a Tyrolese minstrel, or a Spanish smuggler, for what we know. I have heard say that he is neither of these, but an Irish Jew.
Bulbul was in the salon with his mistress; Jean could hear them talking together there; his mistress's voice very fine and clear and then Mr. Bulbul's big, deep voice. Jean Malin took a tray of cakes and wine and carried it into the salon just as though his mistress had ordered him to do so. The lady was surprised to see him coming with the tray, but she said, "That is right, Jean.
"The Bulbul's note, whenas dawn is nigh, * Tells the lover from strains of strings to fly: Complaineth for passion Uns al-Wujud, * For pine that would being to him deny. How many a strain do we hear, whose sound * Softens stones and the rock can mollify: And the breeze of morning that sweetly speaks * Of meadows in flowered greenery.
Bumpsher quiver with rage in the distance, Bruff growl with fury from the further room, and Miss Pim, on whose frock Bulbul's feet rested, look up like a timid fawn. "Fan me, Miss Pim," said he of the cushion. "You look like a perfect Peri to-night. You remind me of a girl I once knew in Circassia Ameena, the sister of Schamyl Bey.
Nevertheless, as the time of his awaking was not far off, he had dreadful nightmares whilst the green pepper was being pecked to pieces, and, becoming restless, awoke just when the bulbul's wife, after laying one glittering emerald-green egg beneath the pepper plant, flew away with her husband. As usual, the Jinn, after yawning and stretching, went to see how his pet pepper was getting on.
Bulbul's dinners are, I own, very good; his pilaffs and curries excellent. He tried to make us eat rice with our fingers, it is true; but he scalded his own hands in the business, and invariably bedizened his shirt; so he has left off the Turkish practice, for dinner at least, and uses a fork like a Christian.
And the beaded dew upon the morning-glories, the crimson tints of dawn, Iris' bended bow and all the cloth-of-gold and robes of purple that mark the royal pathway of the descending sun; the perfume of all the flowers, the bulbul's sensuous song, and every flowing line that marks woman's perfect form he hoarded in his heart and gloated over as a miser does his gain.
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