At one side a little group of them--they were Shereefs from Wazzan--were conversing eagerly and gesticulating wildly; and at the other side a larger company--they were Jews from Fez--were languidly twisting palmetto leaves into the shape of baskets.
Four Berbers at the farther end were playing cards, and two Arabs that were chained to a column near the door squatted on the ground with a battered old draughtboard between them.

From both groups of players came loud shouts and laughter and a running fire of expostulation and of indignant and sarcastic comment.

Down went the cards with triumphant bangs, and the moves of the "dogs" were like lightning.

First a mocking voice: "_You_ call yourself a player! There!--there!--there!" Then a meek, piping tone: "So--so--verily, you are my master.

Well, let us praise Allah for your wisdom." But soon a wild burst of irony: "You are like him who killed the dog and fell into the river.