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"And here is that most sweet book of great worthiness and wit, which I borrowed me of you in the night, howadji," pursued Najib, taking from the soiled folds of his abieh a large old volume, bound in stout leather, after the manner of religious or scientific books of a half-century ago.
Hardly had he seated himself when he broke the custom of momentary grave silence by blurting forth: "Furthermore, howadji, I am the bearer of gladly tidings which will make you to beshout yourself aloud for joyfulness and leap about and besclaim: 'Pretty fair! and other words of a grand rapture. For the bird will sing gleesome dirges in your heart!"
"I can't believe I was so crude," the Howadji returned, with a fine annoyance. "That is the conclusion you have characteristically jumped to without looking before you leap. I was going to approach the fact much more delicately, and I don't know but what by your haste you have shattered my ideal of the conditions.
I was lying on my back, moving my fins just sufficiently to keep afloat, and gazing dreamily through half-closed eyes on the forlorn palms of Tiberias, when a shrill voice hailed me with: "O Howadji, get out of our way!" There, at the old stone gateway below our tent, stood two Galilean damsels, with heavy earthen jars upon their heads. "Go away yourselves, O maidens!"
It was a happy thought; visions of Venice; the moonlit lagoon; the reflected lamps plunging their tongues of flame into the sea; the humid air, the almost breathless silence, broken at intervals by the baying of deep-mouthed bells; the splash of oars; the soft tripping measure of human voices and the refrain of the gondoliers; Jack by his side Jack now in her element, with the maroon fez of the distinguished howadji tilted upon the back of her handsome head, her shapely finger-nails stained with henna, her wrists weighed down with their scores of tinkling bangles!
Is it that I may now tell them to you, howadji?" "Go ahead," adjured Kirby, humouring the wistful eagerness of the man. "What's the news you have for me?" "It is more than just a 'news, howadji," corrected Najib with jealous regard for shades of meaning. "It is a tidings. And it is this: You and my poor self and the fellaheen and even those hell-selected pashalik soldiers we are all to be rich.
In a letter to Christopher P. Cranch, the preacher, poet, and artist, written at the time when he was starting his Journal of Music on its way, Dwight said: "If you see the Howadji, can you not enlist his active sympathy a little in my cause? A letter now and then from him on music or on art would be a feather in the cap of my enterprise.
Am I forgiven, howadji?" he finished timidly. "Forgiven!" yelled Kirby, when he could speak. "Why, you eternal little liar, you're a genius! My hat is off to you! This ought to be worth a fifty-mejidie bonus. And "
N.Y., Saturday, 24th April, '52. My dear John, I have been so busy in the last throes of my "Syrian Howadji," which is to be born on Tuesday, that I have not sent you an intended letter about the Philharmonic and the Quartette; and I presume from to-day's number that you have other notes of them.
"Tamán!" growled Kirby, summarily speaking the age-hallowed Arabic word for the ending of all interviews. "But I shall be beruinated, howadji!" tearfully insisted Najib. Covertly the American watched his henchman while pretending to make ready for bed.
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