“_Que Dios remate tu nombre_,” exclaimed the Mulatto; “may Allah blot out your name, Joanna, and may he likewise blot out that of your maid Johár. It is more than fifteen minutes that I have been seated here, after having poured out into the _tinaja_ the water which I brought from the fountain, and during all that time I have waited in vain for one single word of civility from yourself or from Johár. _Usted no tiene modo_, you have no manner with you, nor more has Johár. This is the only house in Tangier where I am not received with fitting love and respect, and yet I have done more for you than for any other person. Have I not filled your _tinaja_ with water when other people have gone without a drop? When even the consul and the interpreter of the consul had no water to slake their thirst, have you not had enough to wash your _wustuddur_? And what is my return? When I arrive in the heat of the day, I have not one kind word spoken to me, nor so much as a glass of _makhiah_ offered to me; must I tell you all that I do for you, Joanna? Truly I must, for you have no manner with you. Do I not come every morning just at the third hour; and do I not knock at your door; and do you not arise and let me in, and then do I not knead your bread in your presence, whilst you lie in bed, and because I knead it is not yours the best bread in Tangier? For am I not the strongest man in Tangier, and the most noble also?” Here he brandished his barrel over his head, and his face looked almost demoniacal. “Hear me, Joanna,” he continued, “you know that I am the strongest man in Tangier, and I tell you again for the thousandth time, that I am the most noble. Who are the consuls? Who is the Pasha? They are Pashas and consuls now, but who were their fathers? I know not, nor do they. But do I not know who _my_ fathers; were? Were they not Moors of Garnata (_Granada_), {375} and is it not on that account that I am the strongest man in Tangier? Yes, I am of the old Moors of Garnata, and my family has lived here, as is well known, since Garnata was lost to the Nazarenes, and now I am the only one of my family of the blood of the old Moors in all this land, and on that account I am of nobler blood than the sultan, for the sultan is not of the blood of the Moors of Garnata. Do you laugh, Joanna? Does your maid Johár laugh? Am I not Hammin Widdir, _el hombre mas valido de Tanger_? {376a} And is it not true that I am of the blood of the Moors of Garnata? Deny it, and I will kill you both, you and your maid Johár.” “You have been eating _hsheesh_ and _majoon_, Hammin,” said Joanna Correa, “and the _Shaitán_ has entered into you, as he but too frequently does. I have been busy, and so has Johár, or we should have spoken to you before; however, _ma ydoorshee_, {376b} I know how to pacify you now and at all times; will you take some gin-bitters, or a glass of common _makhiah_?”