Coutlass found a whisky bottle out of the confusion, and swallowed the stuff neat while the other Greek and the Goanese waited their turn greedily.

There was nothing much in that compartment to make a man like Hassan feel at home.
"Those Greeks," said our red-bearded traveling companion as we shut the door again, "are only one degree better than Indians--a shade less depraved perhaps--a sight more dangerous.

I sure do hate a Punjabi, but I don't love Greeks! The natives call 'em bwana masikini to their faces--that means Mister Mean White y'know.

They're a lawless lot, the Greeks you'll run across in these parts.

My advice is, shoot first! Walk behind 'em! If they ain't armed, hoof 'em till they cut an' run! Greeks are no good!" We introduced ourselves.