get that our arrival in Touggourt on time depends upon the durability of a yard of rotten rope and a leather strap. We have now commenced an acquaintance with our two grave companions, and, with the driver as interpreter, carry on a very labored conversation, for unlike the city Arabs these do not speak the language of their conquerors.
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NORTHWARD BOUND FOR THE SUMMER
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A DATE-SHIP AWAITING CARGO
At the request of the driver we frequently get out to lighten the wagon when the trail traverses stretches of unusually heavy sand. The elder of our fellow-travelers seems to take a liking to me. He does not speak a word of French; my knowledge of Arabic is limited to seven words, but conversation never languishes. Mr. Lakdar ben Mamar rattles on in Arabic; I reply in English, both enjoying immensely this interchange of thoughts. At any rate it is far better than keeping silence in this oppressive desert that seems like a dead ocean without a wave—without a murmur. I learn that this old gentleman, a veritable patriarch in bearing, is a wealthy money-*lender, and that he is on his way to Touggourt to look after his investments.
