a sheet, twisted a white turban on his head, and turned him out like a piece of bran-new furniture, highly polished, into the drying-room.
"How yoos like it?" asked Rais Ali, as they lay in the Turkish-corpse stage of the process, calmly sipping tea.
"It's plis'nt," replied Ted, "uncommon plis'nt, but raither surprisin'."
"Ha," responded Rais.
At this point their attention was turned to the little fat Moor who had been their fellow-bather, and to whom Ted in his undivided attention to the thin Moor had paid little regard.
"Musha!" whispered Ted, "it's the capting of the port."
The captain of the port it was, and if that individual had known who it was that lay cooling within a few yards of him, he would probably have brought our nautical hero's days to a speedy termination. But although he had seen Ted Flaggan frequently under the aspect of a British seaman, he had never before seen him in the character of a half-boiled Moor. Besides, having been thoroughly engrossed and lost in the enjoyment of his own bath, he had paid no attention to those around him.
"Turn yoos face well to de wall," whispered Rais Ali. "He great hass; hims no see yoo."
"Great 'hass,' indade; he's not half such a 'hass'
