Shere Ali looked at him.
From his cheery, honest face to the firm set of his feet upon the floor, he was typical of his class and race.
"Oh, I hope he'll be beaten!" Shere Ali found himself repeating the words in a whisper.

The wish had suddenly sprung up within him, but it grew in intensity; it became a great longing.

He looked anxiously for the appearance of the Jew from Singapore.

He was glad that, knowing little of either man, he had laid his money against the soldier.
Meanwhile the two youths beside him resumed their talk, and Shere Ali learned what it was that was not "good for us"! "There were four girls," said the youth who had been most indignant.
"Four English girls dancing a _pas de quatre_ on the sand of the circus.
The dance was all right, the dresses were all right.

In an English theatre no one would have had a word to say.