MESSAOULD-BEN-SALEM

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1682, 25 May 1904, Page 8

MESSAOULD-BEN-SALEM

!AjN ARABIAN TffGG-MHNTAGUE.

' Wien I returned to Beni-Mora after tiny journey to Tougourt I was taken ill and had to stay in my room for three or four days. One afternoon, when I was up and, feeling better, a waiter knocked at my door. I opened it. .. “There is an Arab in the hall asking tQ see you, sir.” „ “An Arab! What is his name?” - The waiter handed me a card, on

which was written ‘Messaould-ben-Salem, Proprietaire, Beni-Mora.” I did not know the name.

w- “What is he like?” I asked. “Well, sir,” sai*i the waiter, lucidly, “like any Arab, sir. He is very well dressed.” “Ask him -to wait. I will come down.” - I had a good many friends in BeniMora whose names I did not know or could never remember. Doubtless this visitor was one of them. I was rather surprised at his ;v coming, because it is unusual for an Arab to call at ones hotel, unless, indeed, he is a very superior person, such as the Bachaga of the Zibans, or the Zaoula of Tamacine, or some great potentate of the desert. Therefore I descended full of curiosity. "WOcien I reached the hall I found in it a small and beautifully dressed Arab awaiting me. I recognised him at once as a meinber of the great and important families of the Sahara, nephew of a Bachaga who had , been summoned to Baris to be introduced • to the Czar. I had often seen him in Beni-Mora, but . had only spoken to him once, and then in the most casual way. My surprise was, therefore, great that he should call upon me. However, I went up to |iim, and we shook hands, kissed our hands, touched our breasts, and murmured the usual formula. Then I looked polite inquiry. „ «X heard that Monsieur was ill,” said Messaouid-ben-Salem, “and I could not rest till I had been to ask after Monsieur’s health. X said to myself, ( Day by day i-go to the cafe, I go to the sulphur batns, I go to tho Casino and the gardens, yet nowhere do I perceive Monsieur. He must be very ill.’ At last I venture to inquire.” . ;• * * * * . ;V; * I was really touched. Such anxiety, eraoh solicitude, were unexpected. The thought that I had been missed, and by one whom I barely knew, and whom — soft be it spoken—l had irreverently nicknamed “the Mouse,” on account of a certain mouse-like expression of eyes and features, moved me to the heart. I beggeu Messaould to come into a comer, and take an easy chair. I spread my

cigarette-case open before him, I implored him to have tea. With gracious dignity he assented to all my hospitable propositions. The tea was brought, the cigarette smoke curled upward. Conversation trickled, and finally flowed. Messaoul was, as the waiter had hinted magnificently dressed. He wore pale rose-coloured velvet, elaborately embroidered with gold, pure white trousers, high red boots, a turban spangled with gold, and kid gloved with one button. When he took these triumphs of Sahara chic off to have tea I noticed that his delicate hands were loaded with rings, which seemed to me really good ones —not the seven-and-sixpenny variety of which the'Arabs are so fond. « ft «

We talked of riches quite voluptuously, Messaould composedly directing the conversation.

He began by suggesting that I was a millionaire. Mournfully I repelled the insinuation.

' “But you come to Beni-Mora year after year!” I endeavoured to explain that in these days even the pauper manages to travel. He looked intelligently dubious. i “I am rich,” he remarked. I expressed my great joy in his fortunate condition.

“My uncle is rich. My father is rich. ,My . brothers are rich.” I endeavoured to rise to the height of the occasion, and by a wreathed and sycophantic smile indicated my deep reverence for money and those who possess it. “My motfier’s father is rich,” he added. ‘My sister has married a riph man.” I tried to force the smile into’ a more rarefied region of helpless adulation. “We nave a fine house in Beni-Mora. We have hundreds of palm trees. We’ have many servants. We have dogs. We have camels, and we have French beds.”

“How very delightful!” He looked at me with an earnest, mouse-like expression. His rings sparkled as be lifted his cup of tea, and the sun caught the gold embroidery on his rose-velvet jacket and made it glitter. “Hare you any camels?” “I regret that i have none at all.”

Shame covered me, but I got it out bravely. He regarded me with almost stern inquiry. ‘Would you like one?” As at that time I inhabited a very small bachelor’s flat on a third floor in Shaftesbury-avenue, I saw difficulties ahead, and answered hastily: “Above” all things. But all camels die in England; the rain falls upon them perpetually till they die.” “Then I will not give you a camel,” said Messaould, with determination. I thanked him warmly, and breathed a sigh of relief. “I have never done anything” he pursued.

“I beg your pardon.” “T have never done anything,” he purI am so rich.”

“Oh, I see. You are very fortunate.” “My uncles does nothing. My father does nothing. My brothers do nothing.” I felt very much ashamed to ; think that there were degraded moments in which I had worked, for my living. I did not confess to them, but was reduced to “Indeed!” “We shall none of us ever do anything.” “What a delicious prospect.” ‘Yes. Our house at Beni-Mora is not our only house.” * 1 I began to feel thoroughly overwhelmed. The tea I had offered, the captain’s biscuits, even my cigarettecase —which was really rather* a good one, a present from a friend—‘looked humble even to meanness set out before this Jay Gould-cum-Pierpont Morgan of the Sahara. ‘You don’t say sol” I meekly stammered. “Oh, no! We are only here in the winter. For the summer we have a house near Constantine.” “±±ow —how very comfortable!” “We have servants there. We have dogs there. We have camels and French beds -^ere.” I was reduced to a speaking silence. “In our stables at Beni-Mora six horses stand ready saddled and bridled, ihe saddles are ail embroidered in silver. If I wish to ride I have only to go into the stable.” “How simple!” “In our stables near Constantine we have also six horses standing ready saddled and bridled. Their saddles also are embroidered in silver.” *

I longed to-ask whether the BeniMora horses stood thus decked out all through the summer and the Constantine horses all through the winter. But I did not venture. The tea was by this time finished. The, cigarettes were smoked, and I was honestly unnerved and crushed by the consciousness of my poverty and painfully humble condition. I, therefore, rose, and Messaould followed my example, looking—as I observed —suddenly more mouselike than ever, with the expression of an anxious mouse wondering whether there is, or is not, cheese in the immediate neighbourhood. We moved in silence to the door, and prepared to take leave of one another. As I extended my hand to

clasp the one-button glove, which had been once more assumed, Messaould said: ‘My father is going blind.” “Good heaven! I am deeply grieved.” “It is Allah’s will.” “We must be resigned.” “Yes.” He squeezed my hand; then, bending forward, he whispered, caressingly, Will you lend me 25 francs?” I turned scarlet—for him. “Twenty-five francs 1” I could not believe my ears. f Yes, 25 francs.” ✓He looked at me like a determined mouse. “If my father were not going blind I would not ask you.” “Of coure not; I quite understand. I see perfectly.” The last words were ill-chosen,’ but I was agitated for him. It was quite unnecessary. The one-button glove was extended. I awkwardly shoved a 25franc note and 5 franc piece into it! “I am so glad that Monsieur is better,” said Messaould, kindly. “To-mor-row I will come at this time to inquire again.” ißut on the morrow I was gone from Beni-Mora. My humble situation did not allow me to accept of so much kindness from a comparative stranger.—• Hobart Hichens, in the “Westminster Gazette.”