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I don't believe they're real silk." "Maybe not. They say the Japs can make something that looks like it, but which isn't any more silk than a shoestring." "I believe you. Maybe Ikey has been dabbling in some more of Hashmi's stuff." "I wouldn't wonder. Say, it's a queer way for a fellow to get through college, isn't it?" "It sure is. Yet he's a decent sort of chap.
"Don't do it again, that's all. Who is Hashmi's brother?" "One of 'em keeps that Jap store where you were looking in the window," said Ikey, edging out of the room, "and the other is in Japan. He sent the stuff over to be sold in the regular way, but that sly Hashmi fooled me. Never again!" "And you passed it on to us," said Andy with a laugh. "Well, it's all in the game."
It is enough: my patience is exhausted, and I rise to make off with stiff knees, content at last with what I have seen and heard of the "charming" of snakes in Morocco. "A little from a friend is much." Moorish Proverb. To the passer-by, least of all to the European, there is nothing in its external appearance to recommend old Hashmi's café.
Beside the lofty archway forming the gate of this strange hostelry, is Hashmi's stall, at which green tea or a sweet, pea-soupy preparation of coffee may be had at all hours of the day, but the café proper, gloomy by daylight, lies through the door behind. Here, of an evening, the candles lit, his regular customers gather with tiny pipes, indulging in flowing talk.
"It was all Hashmi's fault," declared Ikey. "I believed him when he said his brother in Japan had sent him a box of fine vawses. Hashmi said he didn't need 'em all, and I said maybe we could sell 'em. So I did." "That was all right; but why did you stick up the price?" asked Andy. "A fellow has to make money," returned Ikey, innocently enough, and Dunk laughed. "All right," said Andy's roommate.
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