# Old Reliable in Africa/Chapter 20

CHAPTER XX
TRICKY TRADERS
IT came unto the morning of their departure for Wadi Okar. Since the first pale hint of dawn Said, the scrawny Dongalawi, had been vigilantly watching at the gate. This gate was no more than a square breach in a mud wall, behind which stood the Grand Hotel of Khartum. In front ran a white road—then the sluggish Nile; four equidistant parallels—the river, the road, the wall, the hotel piazza.
Said squatted upon his haunches, talking with a stringy-necked porter who reclined upon an angereb. At times Said rose and walked apart, whispering with those who came to seek his counsel. There was Achmet the camel-driver, Hamuda Hamad who trafficked in donkeys, and Mohammed ben Idris, cloth-seller in the bazaar. Singly these merchants did talk with Said, yet—as if of one mind—each glanced hawkishly over the wall into that vacant garden, and along the deserted piazza. Said counseled patience, and to each his tongue dripped pearls of wisdom. "The Black Effendi has not yet roused from his sleep; he will ​soon appear. You must wait. The Black Effendi is a great one in his own land, with gold like unto the sands of the desert, or the drops of the Nile. Allah hath consumed him with craving for a camel; he burneth to possess a donkey; he yearns for the rich stuffs that Said hath already pointed him in the bazaar of Mohammed ben Idris. He, Said, alone could persuade the Black Effendi to shower them all with gold. He, Said, was a poor man and must have just reward. So he encouraged each according to his desire; until they departed each unto his own place, waiting in peace until Said should fetch the customer. Achmet, the insistent, returned, and came again—Achmet whose arms were of brass and whose kick could break a bullock's thigh. Said trifled not with Achmet, but gave heed as Achmet extolled his beast. Verily this camel was a jewel, and the foal of a jewel, wearing a marvelous fringed makloofa and striped trappings from Syria. While they discoursed thus together, Hamuda Hamad came almost upon the twain, which would not have been to Said's liking; for Hamuda desired to sell a wondrous donkey. Thereupon Said persuaded Achmet to depart, so that no clamor of contention might uprise between them.
Dawn warmed into morning. A white-hot sun slanted across the narrow, dusty gardens when Old Reliable emerged from the great front door ​of the hotel, and the wind immediately began to flirt with speckled streamers on his helmet. There was never a helmet so white, nor streamers so long and blue, with such a dancing of polka-dots upon them. Clothes may not wholly make a man, but Zack's new khaki suit had made a sight of Old Reliable.
"Huh! Got hitched up wrong," he mumbled, stopping on the piazza to tighten a belly-band and loosen the breeching. Then Zack lifted his head and shouted, "Whar he? Side!"
"Effendi—Excellency," Said emphasized his usual homage.
"Lissen to me, Side; us gwine travelin' to-day, and I got to buy a lot o' things from de sto'." Zack considered ponderously, and clinked the twenty gold coins in his pockets. "I needs a silk handkercher, an' a walkin' stick, an' er—er—er a seegar, an'——"
"Excellency say he buy one camel," Said craftily suggested.
"Dar now! I liketer fergot dat camel. I can't be ridin' dese here runty little bosses no mo'."
"Excellency buy much donkeys——"
"Suttinly, suttinly. Donkeys is heap better fer short rides."
"And robes of honor—which great ones wear——"
"Co'se I got to have plenty good clo'es." Zack ​gazed complacently at his present attire, and Said groveled to the very floor.
Both of them lowered their voices as Colonel Spottiswoode strode out of his door at the far end of the piazza, while Zack hurriedly instructed Said: "When de Cunnel starts up town, you an' me is goin' to de sto'—fus' class white folks' sto'. Mawin', Cunnel, mawnin', suh."
"Good morning, Zack. How do they fit?"
"Fine, Cunnel, fine; leetle too tight in some places, an' den too baggy. Ain't quite got sot to my figger."
Said discreetly retired to the gate and waited; the East is always waiting.
Mahomet Mansour having served the Colonel's breakfast, the White Effendi took his seat at another table after the manner of scribes, and began writing interminable letters, while the Black Effendi followed that pig of a German steward about the garden, talking endlessly. Said watched and waited. Said spat vehemently upon the ground. Said loathed them both. "Patience of Allah!" he muttered. "How long, how long!"
Four black women, naked to the waist, with dirty rags twisted around their middles, fetched water from a canal that came gurgling under the wall. Reinhardt, the steward, directed their irrigation of his flowers. Zack dogged the steward's footsteps, for the German, like a Greek, ​understood every human lingo. Delightedly Old Reliable gabbled on:—"Yas suh, mister. But dat ain't Cunnel's way o' tradin'. Cunnel walks into de sto' an' say, 'John, gimme a hat; you knows what kin' I wants.' De clerk pulls out de same kin' o' hat what Cunnel's been wearin' sence de s'render. Ev'ybody in Vicksburg, white an' black, is well 'quainted wid dat hat. Den de Cunnel say, 'Joe,'—dat's de nigger porter what works in de sto'—'here, Joe, take dis ole hat. It'll keep off de sun when you goes a-fishin'. Cunnel claps dat new hat on his head an' marches out. He don't never know what he pay fer nothin', till de bill comes roun'."
The steward lifted a warning finger, "Ach! But it must not be so in this land; he will at once pay the large price already."
"Yas, suh, yas, suh, dat's 'zackly what I keeps a-tellin' him. Cunnel say, 'Shucks, life's too short an' full o' blisters fer me to be fussin' 'bout a nickel."
Zack glanced at the planter, who was absorbed in his letters. Then drew breath for more extensive conversation with the steward.
"Me an' de Cunnel went over dar to—how you speak de name o' dat landin' on tother side de river?"
"Omdurman."
"Sholy, sholy—dat's what I said. Me an' de ​Cunnel wanted to buy some o' dese fedders what ladies wears in dey hats. Cunnel's got a niece what's plum crazy 'bout 'em. Lordee, mister, dat sho is one more sharp yaller nigger what runs de awstrich-fedder sto'."
The German smiled, having recommended his American friend to Osman ben Issa, the most artful dealer in the Sudan.
Zack stuck at the steward's elbow, walking as he talked. Money jingled in his pocket and Said followed his every movement with ravening eyes. "Dis nigger, Hommit, he specify to Cunnel dat us kin git fedders mighty cheap; dat feller is nacherly givin' 'em away. Hommit, he talk so rapid, I begins to 'spicion Hommit. Huh! Dat yaller sto'-keeper pulls out a lot o' tin boxes an' piles up fedders on de flo', more'n 'nuff to stuff a bolster. Jes' soon as Cunnel picks out one fedder, dat yaller nigger 'low he don't want to sell dat'n, 'cause he grandaddy give it to him, but he'll let Cunnel have it for one hundred plasters. Ef Cunnel wouldn't give dat, how much would Cunnel give? He sot cross-legged, and kep' on axin', 'What'll you gimme? What'll you gimme?' Dat riled de Cunnel mightily when Hommit tole him dem words. So he riz up, Cunnel did, an' 'low he warn't gwine to do no tradin' wid him—yas, suh, Cunnel! Comin', suh."
​Colonel Spottiswoode clapped his hands and shouted: "Wahid! Mahomet."
"Effendi," Mahomet Mansour answered promptly, and went running through the gate.
"Here, Mahomet, take these letters to the post office."
"Very good, Effendi." The russet Berberine started briskly, his pink gown flapping out behind.
"Hold up," the Colonel called; "has that man come with the feathers?"
"Him no come, Effendi. Him maybe come soon."
The Colonel glanced at his watch. "I can't wait."
"Him come." Mahomet's obsequious face betrayed no symptom of his anxiety, "Effendi will wait."
Said glanced uneasily at Mahomet. Both of these honest servants knew that Ibrahim waited, around the corner, until he should be sent for when his customer had become too impatient to make a successful barter. "Him come bimeby, bimeby," Mahomet assured his master, glancing along the river bank to a group of barges where the Ingleezi devil-boat was already belching up smoke before it started for the Shilluk country.
"Reinhardt! Oh, Reinhardt!" Colonel Spottiswoode called to the German. "Reinhardt, I couldn't trade with your friend in Omdurman, so ​I told him to send fifty of his best feathers to you, with the lowest price marked on each. I will buy on your judgment."
"It is very good, very good; I choose him for you. We look maybe at some feather to-day, and send man away; he come back to-morrow and——"
"No to-morrow about it; got to buy 'em right off."
"Much days it takes to buy feathers," the German answered stolidly. "When he come we smoke cigarette; to-morrow we drink some coffee; by and by we begin talk of feather."
"None of that. I can buy a railroad in Grand Rapids and lay it down in Arizona while you fellows are haggling over a dime's worth of feathers. I'm going. Tell him he didn't come in time, and I couldn't wait."
In a panic Said glanced at Mahomet, then suggested, "At the bazaar is Sheikh Ibrahim; bimeby he come with blumes."
The Colonel turned abruptly and Said abased himself to the earth. "Ibrahim is servant from Osman ben Issa—bery good blume."
"Oh, you know where he is? Go get him—quick."
"Better not so," the steward objected, "Ibrahim will think you want much to buy; he will then make high price."
​"No; the price will be marked on every feather—take it or leave it. Run along, Said."
Mahomet glared at Said, who started off in a willing trot. Then Mahomet himself whirled away towards the post office, like a dust-devil, so as to return in haste, for he had no mind to let that Dongalawi usurp his rights in chaffering with Ibrahim.
Colonel Spottiswoode hurried back to his room. "Here, Zack," he ordered, "get everything ready for that two o'clock boat. Don't budge out of this room until the packing is done."
"Now dar you is agin, Cunnel; talkin' to me like I was goin' to run off somewhar. Huh! Dis here little dab o' packin' is jes good as did. It'll be right dar on de boat waitin' for you." Old Reliable fell upon the scattered contents of a suitcase while the Colonel went out and waited for Ibrahim. "Hello!" he laughed; "who's that? Can't be a feather peddler. That must be Abou ben Adhem, may his tribe increase."
It was even he—the feather man from Osman ben Issa. Mahomet and Said flanked a venerable white-bearded man clad in a cascade of spotless robes, surmounted by a turban that looked like a huge twisted drop of confectioner's icing. Three abreast, they paused middlewise of the gate while the porter salaamed profoundly—"May Allah increase thy goodness."
​"On you be peace and the blessings of Allah," Ibrahim replied, and moved majestically along the wide path to halt at the piazza steps. After exchanging elaborate salutations, Sheikh Ibrahim presented to Reinhardt his letter from Osman ben Issa. Turning then to the American Pasha, Ibrahim opened his bulky parcel, reverently as if he were unbinding the Sacred Carpet of Mecca, and proceeded to lay out some twenty plumes. Reinhardt promptly swept the bunch aside. The unmoved Ibrahim spread another lot upon the table, another, and still another. "Trash; litter; rubbish," said Reinhardt.
"What's wrong with those feathers?" demanded the Colonel.
The steward stooped, brushed a feather on the floor, then held it close to his bare arm—"See? It does not cling. The bird was dead, already."
Mahomet Mansour had returned in a rush from the post-office, and now stood watching his charge to wedge into the argument, as Reinhardt proceeded to pick over the feathers.
"Ach!" exclaimed the German. "Here is one not so bad, not so very bad."
Again Reinhardt brushed the plume in the dust; when he held it near his arm every fiber reached out as if attracted by a magnet—"Good feathers always so," he observed.
It was a long, wide plume, uncleaned and ​uncurled, yet exceedingly beautiful. "I'll take that one," said the Colonel, looking it over for the price mark. "What is the price, Reinhardt? You'll find it in that letter."
"No, the letter say for me to get most price—it is always so."
The psychological moment had arrived for Mahomet Mansour. Sternly he questioned Ibrahim, rolled his eyes in horror, and stamped his foot and interpreted between buyer and seller. "Ibrahim say hundred piaster. Too much. Bad blume, very bad. I say, Ibrahim, you pay five piaster, no more. It is a robbery for five piaster, that blume."
"Five piasters make one shilling," Reinhardt explained; "same as the twenty-five cent in your money."
"Is that a pretty good feather?" asked the Colonel.
"So-so, so-so," with a depreciating shrug.
Old Reliable kept peeping out of the Colonel's door, but he couldn't see all that was going on. He now came shuffling along the piazza with a flannel shirt in his hand. "Cunnel, you wants dese here kind o' shirts to go in dat littlest grip sack, don't you?"
"Yes. Tuck 'em in anywhere—don't bother me."
Zack side-stepped behind the Colonel's chair ​and listened to Mahomet's noisy chaffering. Piaster by piaster Mahomet advanced his bid to eleven, while Ibrahim dropped doggedly to fifty. Suddenly they struck a bargain—a quick, decisive, violent bargain. Mahomet thrust the sheikh aside with—"Eighteen piaster"—triumphantly depositing the purchase in his master's lap. Sheikh Ibrahim lifted both hands to heaven, and burst into bewailing; he was being robbed, his master would be beggared; he would appeal to the Mudir. Mahomet confronted him with a fierce glint in his eye.
Zack thought they were going to fight. He ducked backward into the hotel and watched them through the door-crack. Colonel Spottiswoode jerked himself up to intervene, but Reinhardt proceeded calmly to select another feather until the Colonel had acquired a lapful, and nobody slaughtered. Having cowed old Ibrahim into a succession of moans, Mahomet named his own figures.
"Stop, stop, Mahomet! That's plenty," broke in the Colonel. Yet the Berberine bought two or three more before his master could put on the brake, then counted their purchases in front of Ibrahim. These Mahomet wrapped swiftly and handed to Zack—"Take away! Take away!"
"How much do I owe him?" asked the Colonel, opening his purse.
​"Nine hundred piaster and eighty," the honest Mahomet answered.
Reinhardt shook his head: "Not so! What you buy comes to five hundred and ninety-four piaster, for the lot." Reinhardt seemed not to hear the frenzy raised by Mahomet and the Sheikh. From the American's purse he counted six gold pieces, and nine smaller coins which Zack regarded as nickels.
"It is the cost of about thirty dollars and forty-five cents of America," Reinhardt explained.
Ibrahim bundled up his rejected plumes. No sooner had his greedy fist closed upon the cash than Mahomet rushed him down the steps.
"Here, Mahomet! Stop that!" With courteous apologies to the old man, Colonel Spottiswoode pressed an additional half sovereign into his hand. Mahomet stared, Said's jaw dropped open. They were madmen, these unbelievers. Ibrahim clutched this manna from heaven, and passed swiftly around the corner of the piazza. Once out of sight he paused under the palms in the garden and began counting his gains. Said slunk away, behind Ibrahim, and nobody noticed—except Mahomet, who raged inwardly. The soft-footed Mahomet Mansour took one backward step, thinking to escape through the rotunda before Said could have truck with the departing ​Ibrahim. But his master called: "Wahid! Mahomet. Come here, Zack."
With Zack at his heels, the Colonel strode down the long piazza, to the room where his belongings lay scattered. Mahomet followed surlily, while his mind went chasing after Said, who would surely cheat him. It was not until the linen-clad American started towards the steamer landing that Mahomet dodged out of the door, dropped off the piazza and went bounding like a panther toward Ibrahim and Said.
Being sure that the Colonel had gone, Zack thrust his black face through the doorway, and grinned. "Did anybody ever see de beat o' dat? Hommit specs me to do all dis packin' whilst—Lawd Gawd! Look yonder! All three o' dem niggers is fightin'."