told me that it was his religion, or a national observance, or meant for a courtesy.  What can a man do, in a strange country, when he is told that a native spits in his face by way of civility?  I bore it, I bore it—like a man; and sighed for the comforts of Friday Street.

As to one matter, I made up my mind on that day, and I fully carried out my purpose on the next: I would go across to the Well of Moses in a boat.  I would visit the coasts of Asia.  And I would ride back into Africa on a camel.  Though I did it alone, I would have my day’s pleasuring.  I had money in my pocket, and, though it might cost me £20, I would see all that my namesake had seen.  It did cost me the best part of £20; and as for the pleasuring, I cannot say much for it.

I went to bed early that night, having concluded my bargain for the morrow with a rapacious Arab who spoke English.  I went to bed early in order to escape the returning party, and was again on the quay at six the next morning.  On this occasion, I stepped boldly into the boat the very moment that I came along the shore.  There is nothing in the world like paying for what you use.  I saw myself to the bottle of brandy and the cold meat, and acknowledged that a cigar out of my own case would suit me better than that long stick.  The long stick might do very well for a Governor of Pegu, but would be highly inconvenient in Friday Street.

Well, I am not going to give an account of my day’s journey here, though perhaps I may do so some day.  I did go to the Well of Moses—if a small dirty pool of salt water, lying high above the sands, can be called a well; I did eat my dinner in the miserable ruined cottage which they graced by the name of a pavilion; and, alas for my poor bones! I did ride home upon a camel.  If Sir George did so early, and started for Pegu the next morning—and I was informed such was the fact—he must have been made of iron.  I laid in bed the whole day suffering greviously; but I was told that on such a journey I should have slakened my throat with oranges, and not with brandy.

I survived those four terrible days which remained to me at Suez, and after another month was once again in Friday Street.  I suffered greatly on the occasion; but it is some consolation to me to reflect that I smoked a pipe of peace with Mahmoud al Ackbar; that I saw the hero of Begum while journeying out to new triumphs at Pegu; that I sailed into Asia in my own yacht—hired for the occasion; and that I rode back into Africa on a camel.  Nor can Judkins, with all his ill-nature, rob me of these remembrances.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GEORGE WALKER AT SUEZ***