The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - CompleteParker, Gilbert
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The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Complete
Parker, Gilbert
Society of Friends -- Fiction
prayer, and the fellah in his cotton shirt and yelek heard, laid his
load aside, and yielded himself to his one dear illusion, which would
enable him to meet with apathy his end--it might be to-morrow!--and go
forth to that plenteous heaven where wives without number awaited him,
where fields would yield harvests without labour, where rich food in
gold dishes would be ever at his hand. This was his faith.
David had now been in the country six months, rapidly perfecting his
knowledge of Arabic, speaking it always to his servant Mahommed Hassan,
whom he had picked from the streets. Ebn Ezra Bey had gone upon his own
business to Fazougli, the tropical Siberia of Egypt, to liberate, by
order of Prince Kaid,--and at a high price--a relative banished there.
David had not yet been fortunate with his own business--the settlement
of his Uncle Benn’s estate--though the last stages of negotiation with
the Prince Pasha seemed to have been reached. When he had brought the
influence of the British Consulate to bear, promises were made, doors
were opened wide, and Pasha and Bey offered him coffee and talked to
him sympathetically. They had respect for him more than for most Franks,
because the Prince Pasha had honoured him with especial favour. Perhaps
because David wore his hat always and the long coat with high collar
like a Turk, or because Prince Kaid was an acute judge of human nature,
and also because honesty was a thing he greatly desired--in others--and
never found near his own person; however it was, he had set David high
in his esteem at once. This esteem gave greater certainty that any
backsheesh coming from the estate of Benn Claridge would not be sifted
through many hands on its way to himself. Of Benn Claridge Prince Kaid
had scarcely even heard until he died; and, indeed, it was only within
the past few years that the Quaker merchant had extended his business to
Egypt and had made his headquarters at Assiout, up the river.
David’s donkey now picked its way carefully through the narrow streets
of the Moosky. Arabs and fellaheen squatting at street corners looked at
him with furtive interest. A foreigner of this character they had never
before seen, with coat buttoned up like an Egyptian official in the
presence of his superior, and this wide, droll hat on his head. David
knew that he ran risks, that his confidence invited the occasional
madness of a fanatical mind, which makes murder of the infidel a
passport to heaven; but as a man he took his chances, and as a Christian
he believed he would suffer no mortal hurt till his appointed time. He
was more Oriental, more fatalist, than he knew. He had also early in his
life learned that an honest smile begets confidence; and his face, grave
and even a little austere in outline, was usually lighted by a smile.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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