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Updated: June 2, 2025
Wassef replied that the Mamour did well not to accept the backsheesh of Mahommed Selim's father, for the Mouffetish at the palace of Ismail would have heard of it, and there would have been an end to the Mamour. It was quite a different matter when it was backsheesh for sending Mahommed Selim to the Soudan.
She must go down the Nile, hiding by day, travelling by night the homing bird with a broken wing-back to the but where she had lived so long with Wassef the camel-driver; back where she could lie in the dusk of her windowless home, shutting out the world from her solitude. There she could bear the agony of her hour.
"It was not the regiment of Mahommed Selim," Dicky answered slowly, with a curious hard note in his voice. "All blessings do not come at once such is the will of God!" answered Wassef with a sneer. "You brother of asses," said Dicky, showing his teeth a little, "you brother of asses of Bagdad!" "Saadat el basha!" exclaimed Wassef, angry and dumfounded.
Therefore, at Beni Souef that morning women wept, and men looked sullenly upon the ground all but Wassef the camel-driver. It troubled the mind of Wassef that Mahommed Selim made no outcry at his fate.
One evening, on a day which had been almost too hot for even the seller of liquorice-water to go by calling and clanging, Wassef the camel-driver sat at the door of a malodorous cafe and listened to a wandering welee chanting the Koran.
That was a very peculiar thing, because every Egyptian official, from the Khedive down to the ghafhr of the cane-fields, took backsheesh in the name of Allah. Wassef the camel-driver was the cause.
Wassef was in an ill-humour: first, because the day had been so hot; secondly, because he had sold his ten-months' camel at a price almost within the bounds of honesty; and thirdly, because a score of railway contractors and subs. were camped outside the town. Also, Soada had scarcely spoken to him for three days past.
But this particular night Wassef was bitter, and watched with stolid indifference the going down of the sun, the time when he usually said his prayers. He was in so ill a humour that he would willingly have met his old enemy, Yusef, the drunken ghaffir, and settled their long-standing dispute for ever. But Yusef came not that way.
He was lying drunk with hashish outside the mosque El Hassan, with a letter from Mahommed Selim in his green turban for Yusef had been a pilgrimage to Mecca and might wear the green turban. But if Yusef came not by the cafe where Wassef sat glooming, some one else came who quickly roused Wassef from his phlegm.
Allah!" cried Mahommed Selim, for that was the sound which always waked the torpid brain of Yusef since Wassef the camel-driver's skull had crackled under his naboot. Yusef's wide shoulders straightened back, his tongue licked his lips, his eyes stared before him, his throat was dry. He licked his lips again. "Allah!" he cried and ran forward. The soldiers thrust Yusef back.
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