Najib with jealous regard for shades of meaning. “It is a tidings. And it is this: You and my poor self and all the fellaheen and even those hell-selected pashalik soldiers—we are all to be rich. Most especially you, howadji. Wealthiness bewaits us all. No longer shall any of us be downward and outward from povertude. No more shall any of us toil early and belatedly. We shall all live in easiness of hours and with much payment. Inshallah! Alhandulillah!” he concluded, his rising excitement for once bursting the carefully nourished bounds of English and overflowing into Arabic expletive.
Noting his own lapse into his native language, he looked sheepishly at Kirby, as though hoping the American had not heard the break. Then, with mounting eagerness, Najib struck the climax of his narrative.
“To speak with a briefness, howadji,” he proclaimed grandiloquently. “We have all stroked ourselfs!”
“You've all done—what?” asked the puzzled Kirby.
“Not we alone, howadji,” amended Najib, “but you also! We would not berich ourselves and leave you outward in the plan. It is you also who are to stroke yourself. And———”
“For the love of Heaven!” exclaimed Kirby in sudden loss of patience. “What are you driving at? What do you mean about ‘stroking yourselves’? Say it in Arabic. Then perhaps I can find what you mean.”
“It is not to be said in the Arabic, howadji,” returned Najib, wincing at this slur on his English. “For there is not such a thing in the Arabic as to make strike. We make strike. Thus I say it we “stroke ourselves.” If it is the wrong way for saying it———”
“Strike?” repeated Kirby, perplexed. “What do you mean? Are you still thinking about what I told you to-day? If you are going———”
“I have bethought of it, howadji, ever since,” was the reply. “And it is because of my much bethoughting that I found my splenderous plan. That is my tidings, I bethought it all out with tremense clearness and wiseness. Then I told those others, down yonder. At first they were of a stupidity. For it was so new. But at
