"There was no reason I shouldn't. The nigger never came back, and
the old man stayed with me for two months," Adam returned. "You
know what the best type of a Mohammedan gentleman can be, pater?
He was that."
"None finer, none finer," was the answer.
"Except a Sikh," Stalky grunted.
"He'd been to Bombay; he knew French Africa inside out; he could
quote poetry and the Koran all day long. He played chess--you
don't know what that meant to me -like a master. We used to talk
about the regeneration of Turkey and the Sheik-ul-Islam between
moves. Oh, everything under the sun we talked about! He was
awfully open-minded. He believed in slavery, of course, but he
quite saw that it would have to die out. That's why he agreed
with me about developing the resources of the district by
cotton-growing, you know."
"You talked of that too?" said Strickland.
"Rather. We discussed it for hours. You don't know what it meant
to me. A wonderful man. Imam Din, was not our Hajji marvellous?"
"Most marvellous! It was all through the Hajji that we found the
money for our cotton-play.
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