There was a set of Solingen razors, marked in Arabic with the days of the week; a cloak of blue-and-white-striped cloth, fit for any prince of Bedouins; and an ormolu clock with a gong inside it that would have graced the chimneypiece of a Brooklyn boarding-house.
_"Mar'haba!"_* he said at last, by way of acknowledging our existence, after he had stared at the presents for about two minutes sourly; and I took that for permission to say my little piece.

[* Greeting] So I delivered Grim's message, saying that he was a most God-fearing and hard-fighting sheikh from Palestine, who had had the honor to escort his mightiness' wife to Petra, and now, learning of the illness of the famous Lion of Petra, who might Allah bless for ever, rather than postpone his devotions had sent me, his _hakim,_ schooled in medicine at Lahore University, and a _darwaish_ to boot, to offer such relief as my modest skill might compass.
That was a long speech to get off in Arabic for a comparative beginner.

I rather expected him to smile or say something pleasant in return, but he didn't.
"By Allah, you have come to poison me!" he growled.

"All _hakims_ are alike.

There was an Egyptian tried it a month ago.