At the station he found that a train was about to leave for Cairo. He boarded it and booked a seat in the dining car. Since breakfast he had had nothing but two Syrian pastries and a tiny cup of coffee. Until dinner was announced he sat staring through the window, as the train sped beside the canal, which was revealed from time to time by the searchlights of lonely steamers feeling their way to or from Suez. The other occupants of his compartment were swarthy, prosperous men, whose noses and eyes reminded Paul of illustrations in the family Bible at Hale's Turning.
When he took his place at the table he found opposite him a robust young man of thirty-two or three with fiery hair and alert blue eyes. His appearance, manner and apparel proclaimed him Irish-American. Paul suspected him of a desire to make talk and addressed himself to his food. Casual conversation could only be built on a foundation of self-confidence. The stranger, having enough and to spare, overrode Paul's reserve.
"I wouldn't eat that if I was you, friend," he began.
Paul, on the point of lifting a slice of tomato to his mouth, paused and looked at the speaker.
"Why not?"
"It ain't safe to eat uncooked vegetables in this part of the world. You're new here, ain't you?"
Paul laughed, and went on eating his salad. "Yes, but hungry enough to take risks."
