I was not the only passenger aboard the S.S. Mandalay who perceived
the disturbance and wondered what it might portend and from whence
proceed. A goodly number of passengers were joining the ship at
Port Said. I was lounging against the rail, pipe in mouth, lazily
wondering, with a large vagueness.

What a heterogeneous rabble it was!--a brightly coloured rabble,
but the colours all were dirty, like the town and the canal. Only
the sky was clean; the sky and the hard, merciless sunlight which
spared nothing of the uncleanness, and defied one even to think
of the term dear to tourists, "picturesque." I was in that kind
of mood. All the natives appeared to be pockmarked; all the
Europeans greasy with perspiration.

But what was the stir about?

I turned to the dark, bespectacled young man who leaned upon the
rail beside me. From the first I had taken to Mr. Ahmad Ahmadeen.

"There is some kind of undercurrent of excitement among the natives,"
I said, "a sort of subdued Greek chorus is audible. What's it all
about?"

Mr. Ahmadeen smiled. After a gaunt fashion, he was a handsome man
and had a pleasant smile.

"Probably," he replied, "some local celebrity is joining the ship."

I stared at him curiously.