"Ah my friend, you have ruined me!" exclaimed the grazier, after the first salutations had passed between them. "I have lost those two useless Christian dogs you sold me, and I am a ruined man." Bo Muzem requested him to explain himself. "After your departure," said the grazier, "I tried to get some work out of the infidels; but they would not obey me; and I believed they would have died before doing anything to make themselves useful. As I am a poor man, I could not afford to keep them in idleness; nor yet to kill them, which I had a strong inclination to do. The day after you left me, I received intelligence from Swearah, which commanded me to go there immediately no business of importance; and thinking that possibly some Christian fool in that place might give something for his infidel countrymen, I took the two dogs along with me. "They promised that, if I would carry them to the English consul, he would pay a large price for their ransom. When we entered Mogador, and reached the consul's house, the dogs told me that they were free; and defied me to take them out of the city. I could not get a piastre for my trouble and expense. The governor of Swearah and the Emperor of Morocco are on good terms with the infidels' Government; and they also hate us Arabs of the desert. There is no justice in Mogador for such as we. If you take your slaves into the city, you will lose them." "I shall not bring them into the empire of Morocco," replied Bo Muzem, "until I have first received the money for them." "You will never get it in Swearah. Their consul will not pay a dollar, but will try to have them liberated without giving you anything." "But I have a letter from one of the slaves to his uncle, a rich merchant in Swearah. The uncle will pay the money." "The slave has lied to you. He has no uncle there, and I can soon convince you that such is the case. There is now staying in this village a Mogador Jew, who is acquainted with every infidel merchant in the city, and he also understands the languages they speak. Let him see the letter." Anxious to be convinced of whether he was being deceived or not, Bo Muzem readily agreed to this proposition; and in company with the grazier, he repaired to the house where the Jew was residing. The latter, on being shown Harry's letter, and asked to whom it was addressed, replied-- "To any English merchant in Mogador." "Bismillah!" exclaimed Bo Muzem. "All English merchants cannot be uncles to the young dog who wrote this letter!" "Tell me," added he, "did you ever hear of an English merchant in Mogador named `For-God-sake-bias?'" The Jew smiled, and with some difficulty restraining an inclination to laugh outright at the question, gave the Arab a translation of the words, "For God's sake, buy us." Bo Muzem was now satisfied that he had been "sold."