After a voyage of fourteen days the city of Alexandria was sighted. “Thank goodness!” exclaimed an old Indian nabob. “I am glad I have to stay at Alexandria, for _L’Orient_ is the worst disciplined ship I was ever in.” The verdict was concurred in by nearly everyone on board. And yet it was not the officers’ fault, for nine-tenths of the trouble was caused by the pranks of Madcap Max. “Do we land here?” asked Max. “Yes, Max. We shall finish our journey overland.” “Our journey?” repeated Max, opening his bright eyes still wider with astonishment. “Yes, Max. We go to Cairo before we settle down at Alexandria.” “I am so glad.” Several scores of boats surrounded _L’Orient_, manned by swarthy and not too-much dressed Arabs; a dozen or so seized upon Max and his father and literally dragged them to a boat. On the way from the steamer to the landing dock, Mr. Gordon whispered to Max: “No jokes with these fellows, or your life is not your own.” “All right, dad; I’ll be as sober as a judge and as full of fun as an undertaker.” “For your own sake be careful.” “I will, dad. That is, as careful as I can be.” CHAPTER II. EMIN BEY’S ESCAPE. When the passengers landed, a rabble of donkey drivers met them. No more clever, impudent little gossoons exist on the face of the earth than these same Arab donkey boys. They hit upon the nationality of the stranger almost intuitively. An American who had never been in Egypt before, was looking at the surging, struggling lot of donkey drivers with wonder, when one of them pushed forward and addressed him as follows: “I’se looking for you, sah. Here he is; my donkey is the one Pasha Grant rode on; him called ‘Yankee Doodle.’” “Get away with yer. Can’t yer see the bey will only ride on Hail Columbia?” Seated on a donkey, Max entered the city founded by Alexander three hundred and thirty-three years before the birth of Christ. Before a strange-looking, square, flat-topped house the donkeys halted, and Mr. Gordon bade Max dismount. “This is home.” “Do you live here, dad?” “Yes, Max. We will rest here to-night, and go on our journey to-morrow.” Max was delighted, and late in the day wandered alone to that wonderful monolith of granite called “Pompey’s Pillar.” He sat down to think. He had always been fond of books on Egypt, and now he was actually looking on one of the wonders of that old country. Suddenly he heard a cry. It was like a girl’s voice. Max was up in an instant and trying to locate the sound. He had no difficulty in so doing, for a girl--her face half covered with a white veil--rushed past him, shrieking and crying. “Allah! Allah!” she shouted. Two men were in pursuit. Max never stopped to think. He leaped forward, and without knowing why he did so, or whether it would be wise to interfere, he struck one of the Arabs to the earth, and threw himself against the other, who was a strong, powerful fellow, with muscles like iron.