We went through a line of his bodyguard in the hall, and the master of ceremonies took us up several low but wide stairways to a hall.

In the hall was a little fat young man in a frock coat and a fez, and he shook hands with us, and walked into another room and we all sat down on chairs covered with white muslin.
I talked and Little talked about me and the Khedive pretended to be very much honored, and said the American who had come over after our rebellion had done more for the officers in his army than had anyone else, meaning the English.

He did not say that because we were Americans, but because he hates the English.

He struck me as being stubborn, which is one side of stupidness and yet not stupid, and I occasionally woke him to bursts of enthusiasm over the Soudanese.

His bursts were chiefly "Ali." Little seemed to amuse him very much, and Little treated him exactly like a little boy who needed to be cheered up.