Crocodile On The Sandbank

stood looking shyly at Evelyn, and when she asked about the jewelry he started to answer. The ebullient Maspero anticipated him.

'Mais non, mademoiselle, they are imitations of coral, turqoise, lapis lazuli, made from a colored paste common in ancient Egypt.'

'They are lovely, all the same,' I said. 'And the very age of them staggers the imagination. To think that these beads adorned the slim brown wrist of an Egyptian maiden four thousand years before our Saviour was born!'

Blackboard whirled around. 'Three thousand years,' he corrected. 'Maspero's chronology, like all his work, is inexcusably inaccurate!'

Maspero smiled, but I think his next act was prompted to some extent by the annoyance he was too courteous to express directly. Lifting a necklace of tiny blue and coral beads, he handed it to Evelyn with a courtly bow.

'Keep it as a memento of your visit, if you treasure such things. No, no'-he waved away Evelyn's protests-'it is of no consequence; I only regret I have nothing finer for such a charming lady. For you, too, Mademoiselle Peabody' – and another string of beads was pressed into my hand.

'Oh, but- ' I began, with an uneasy glance at the black-bearded person, who was shaking like an engine about to burst.

'Do me the honor,' Maspero insisted. 'Unless you fear the foolish tales of curses and avenging Egyptian ghosts- '

'Certainly not,' I said firmly.

'But what of the curses of M. Emerson?' Maspero asked, his eyes twinkling. 'Regardez- he is about to say unkind things to me again.'

'Never fear,' Emerson snarled. 'I am leaving. I can only stand so many minutes in this horror house of yours. In God's name, man, why don't you classify your pots?'

He rushed off, pulling his slighter companion with him. The young fellow turned his head; his gaze went straight to Evelyn and remained fixed on her face until he had been removed from the room.

'He has almost the Gallic temperament,' said Maspero admiringly. 'One observes the magnificence of his rages with respect.'

'I cannot agree with you,' I said. 'Who is the fellow?'

'One of your fellow countryman, dear lady, who has interested himself in the antiquities of this country. He has done admirable work excavating, but I fear he does not admire the rest of us. You heard his abuse of my poor museum. He abuses my excavation methods with the same ardor. But, indeed, there is no archaeologist in Egypt who has been spared his criticism.'

'I don't care to speak of him,' I said, with a sniff. 'We think your museum is fascinating, M. Maspero,' Evelyn added tactfully. 'I could spend days here.'

We spent several hours more inspecting the exhibits. I would not have said so for the world, but I felt a certain sympathy for the odious Emerson's criticisms. The exhibits were not arranged as methodically as they might have been, and there was dust everywhere.

Evelyn said she was too tired to go down to the boat that day, so we took a carriage back to the hotel. She was pensive and silent during the drive; as we neared Cairo, I said slyly,

'Mr. Emerson's young brother does not have the family temper, I believe. Did you happen to hear his name?'

'Walter,' said Evelyn, and blushed betrayingly.

'Ah.' I pretended not to notice the blush. 'I found him very pleasant. Perhaps we will meet them again at the hotel.'

'Oh, no, they do not stay at Shepheard's. Walt-Mr. Walter Emerson explained to me that their money all goes for excavation. His brother is not supported by any institution or museum; he has only a small yearly income and, as Walter says, if he had the wealth of the Indies he would consider it insufficient for his purposes.'

'You seem to have covered quite a lot of ground in a very short time,' I said, watching Evelyn out of the corner of my eye. 'It is a pity we can't continue the acquaintance with the younger Mr. Emerson, and avoid his insane brother.'

'I daresay we shall not meet again,' Evelyn said softly.

I had my own opinion on that score.

In the afternoon, after a rest, we went to shop for medical supplies. The guidebooks advise travelers to carry a considerable quantity of medicines and drugs, since there are no doctors south of Cairo. I had copied the list of suggested remedies from my guide, and was determined to do the thing properly. If I had not been a woman, I might have studied medicine; I have a natural aptitude for the subject, possessing steady hands and far less squeamishness about blood and wounds than many males of my acquaintance. I planned to buy a few small surgical knives also; I fancied I could amputate a limb- or at least a toe or finger- rather neatly if called upon to do so.

Our dragoman, Michael, accompanied us. I thought he seemed quieter than usual, but I was occupied with my list: blue pills, calomel, rhubarb, Dover's powder, James's powder, carbolic acid, laudanum, quinine, sulfuric acid, ipecacuanha… It was Evelyn who asked Michael what the trouble was. He hesitated, looking at us in turn.

'It is my child, who is ill,' he said finally. 'She is only a girl-child, of course.'

The faltering of his voice and his troubled countenance betrayed a paternal emotion that contradicted the words, so I modified what had begun as an indignant comment into an offer of assistance. Michael protested, but it was clear that he would welcome our help. He led us to his home.

It was a narrow old house with the intricately carved wooden balconies that are typical of Old Cairo. It seemed to me appallingly dirty, but compared with the squalor and filth we had seen elsewhere, it could have been worse. The sickroom where the child lay was dreadful. The wooden shutters were closely barred, lest evil spirits enter to harm the child further, and the stench was frightful. I could scarcely see the small sufferer, for the only illumination came from a clay lamp filled with smoking fat, with a wick of twisted cloth. My first move, therefore, was to go to the windows and throw them open.

A wavering shriek of protest arose from the women huddled on the floor. There were six of them, clad in dusty black and doing nothing that I could see except add to the contamination of the air and keep the child awake by their endless wailing. I evicted them. The child's mother I allowed to remain. She was a rather pretty little thing, with great black eyes, and was herself, I suspected, not more than fifteen years of age.

Careless of her dainty gingham skirts, Evelyn was already seated on the floor by the pallet where the child lay. Gently she brushed the tangled black curls from its face and dislodged a cluster of flies swarming around its eyes. The mother made a gesture of protest, but subsided after a frightened glance at me. Evelyn and I had already had cause to be horrified at the way these people allow insects to infest the eyes of the children; I had seen pitiful infants so beset by flies that they looked as if they were wearing black goggles. If they attempted to brush the stinging, filthy creatures away, the mothers slapped their hands. One sees tiny children who have already lost the sight of one or both eyes through this dreadful custom; and, of course, infant mortality is extremely high. One authority claims that three children out of five the young.

I looked at Michael's agonized face, and at the flushed face of the small sufferer, and I decided this was one child that would not succumb if I could help it. How fortunate that we had just come from purchasing medical supplies!

The cause of the child's illness was not hard to discover.

She had fallen and cut herself, as children will; infection had entered the wound, which naturally had not been washed or cleaned. One small arm was puffed and swollen. When I cut into the swelling, after disinfecting the knife as best I could, the infected matter spurted out in an evil-smelling flood. I cleaned and dressed the wound, then lectured the distracted parents on the necessity of keeping it clean. Evelyn was a tower of strength. It was not until we got back to the hotel that she was quietly and thoroughly sick. I dismissed Michael for the remainder of the day, telling him to go home and keep his horde of female relatives out of the child's room.