h and thought about it. I hate to feel squeamish
almost as much as I hate to sit and think, both being sure-fire
ways of getting into trouble. The only safe thing I know is to
follow opportunity and leave the man behind to do the worrying.
More people die lingering, ghastly deaths in arm-chairs and in
bed than anywhere.

So I spoke of squeamishness and second thoughts with all the
scorn that a man can use who hasn't yet tasted the enmity of the
desert and felt the fear of its loneliness; and Grim, who never
wastes time arguing with folk who don't intend to be convinced,
laughed and got up.

"You can't come along as a white man."

"Produce the tar and feathers then," said I.

"Have you forgotten your Hindustani?"

"Some of it."

"Think you can remember enough of it to deceive Arabs who never
knew any at all?"

"Narayan Singh was flattering me about it the other day."

"I know he was," said Grim. "It was his suggestion we should take
you with us."

That illustrates perfectly Grim's way of letting out information
in driblets. Evidently he had considered taking me on this trip
as long as three days ago. It was equally news to me that the
enormous Sikh, Narayan Singh, had any use for me; I had always
supposed that he had accepted me on sufferance for Grim's sake,
and that in his heart he scorned me as a tenderfoot. You can no
more dig beneath the subtlety of Sikh politeness than you can
overbear his truculence, and it is only by results that you may
know your friend and recognize your enemy.

Narayan Singh came in, and he did not permit any such weakness as
a smile to escape him. When great things are being staged it is
his peculiar delight to look wooden. Not even his alert brown
eyes betrayed excitement. Like most Sikhs, he can stand looking
straight in front of him and take in every detail of his
surroundings; with his khaki sepoy uniform perfect down to the
last crease, and his great black bristly beard groomed until it
shone, he might have been ready for a dress parade.

"Is everything ready?" asked Grim.

"No, sahib. Suliman weeps."

"Spank him! What's the matter this time?"

"He has a friend. He demands to take the friend."

"What?" I said. "Is that little ---- coming?"

Two men in all Jerusalem, and only two that I knew of, had any
kind of use for Suliman, the eight-year-old left-over from the
war whom Grim had adopted in a fashion, and used in a way that
scandalized the missionaries. He and N