“The leopard has changed his spots. Only two nights ago you bulldozed that same youth into letting us in free. He is amazed--bewildered at your allowing yourself to be mulcted now.” “Ah! that was Wycherley the vagabond, sailing on the strength of past affiliation with tramps and nomads of all kinds. Presto! behold Wycherley the broker, the partner of a millionaire. Is it possible that you don’t see that I must _reform_? When I clothed myself in that dress suit last night, I put off the old life, as if it had never been. That is my privilege. Don’t believe, my dear fellow, that I can ever be anything but a merry dog; but there’s a way of drawing the line, and I’ve chalked it out. The dead line at Andersonville was of small moment compared with it. Over that line I never step again, so long as fortune smiles.” “On the whole a very sensible way of arranging it. Does you credit, my boy. Now our man the enemy is pushing down the street. Shall we follow? is the question, or hold aloof with the crowd here that jeers at the camel riders and mocks those who bestride the long-eared donkeys. Everybody laughs; it’s in the air. Let’s stop and see the fun, meanwhile keeping an eye beyond the mosque for signs of the spider’s web across Cairo Street,” replies Aleck. “When does Samson Cereal expect to bring up in this den of lions?” “Between eight and half-past.” “Then we’ve got a little time. I suggest a rise in the world. Look at that balcony above. We can gain it by a little silver. No one is there. It will give us a view of the whole scene. We may pull our hats down and keep an eye on everything that occurs.” “A good scheme. This crowd is too jovial by half. Look at the donkey boys plunging their little jacks directly through it, and you hear only feminine shrieks or the hoarse laughter of men; not an angry word. I’ve never before seen an American crowd put up with so much abuse and humbug. It’s miraculous.” And Aleck is right; many marvel at the sight, and can only believe there must be some witchery in the air. From the odd balcony of the house in Cairo Street the view is entrancing, and once seen can never be forgotten. Our friends do not forget the business that brings them to the place, and while smiling at the ludicrous sights presented below, with amateur camel riders hugging each other upon the swaying ships of the desert, and letting out volleys of shrieks that are music to Arab ears, they keep continually on the watch for those who are to start the serious part of the drama into action. Suddenly Wycherley utters an exclamation. “What do you see?” asks his companion, in doubt as to whether the other has made a pleasing discovery or the opposite, for he remembers the Spanish cigar girl and Wycherley has not yet renounced his claims in that quarter, though only the night before paying gallant attention to a banker’s daughter. “Observe yonder camel and his riders,” replies Claude. CHAPTER XXVII. THE OLD GAME OF THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.