THE MEETING OF FRIENDS

George was simply thunderstruck. It seemed almost miraculous that he should meet his bosom friend in such a place and under such circumstances. The two stared at each other in perfect astonishment for some moments, still clasping hands.

"Well, of all the wonders," George exclaimed, after they had expressed sufficient surprise and finished their greetings, "who would have expected this? But why are you here, and why all this mystery?"

"But surely you know, George! You know what has happened?" said Osterberg.

"I know nothing more than that Arabi is leading a rebellion against the Khedive's rule, with the object of deposing him, and that Cairo is becoming impossible to residents in consequence. I suppose Alexandria, from the look of the streets I came through, is in even a worse plight. But tell me about it."

"That's putting it mildly. We've had one of the most inhuman riots here imaginable. The Seditionists have been pillaging the town and massacring all Europeans who came in their way. I only came here a week ago, and now, like all the occupants of this house, am hiding, waiting for an opportunity to get away in safety. It's frightful, it's terrible. Heaven only knows how many people have been massacred."

"I didn't know it was as bad as that. You must have all been terror-stricken," replied George. "But let us come and have a quiet talk. How marvellous I should have chosen this place above all others to seek refuge in!"

The two young men sat and talked in the background, Helmar first giving an account of all that had happened to him, which was punctuated with exclamations of surprise from Osterberg as George recounted his adventures.

Osterberg, after parting with his friend at Constantinople, obtained work in the bank and gave great satisfaction to his employer. One day the latter called him in and told him there was a vacancy in the branch at Alexandria, and offered it to Osterberg. He accepted with alacrity and arrived in the town but a few days before the riots took place.

"And here I am taking refuge like the others, with the proprietor of this cafÉ," he wound up. "Not quite so eventful a time as yours, George, is it?"

"And what are we going to do now? Do you think we are safe for any length of time? Surely they must attack us in due course?" said George.

"I think we shall be unmolested for a while," replied Osterberg. "The place was visited early by the rabble soldiery and they took all that was worth taking, so now I don't suppose they will bother us."

That night was one of the worst Helmar had ever experienced; the only beds that could be scrambled together were used by the women-folk, and the men slept on the floor, benches, and tables. Fortunately blankets were not needed, as the heat was intense, but the benches were rickety and the sand on the floor worked into the sleepers' clothes. Altogether the plight of the refugees was miserable.

Helmar was unfeignedly delighted to meet his friend once more, and this compensated largely for the woeful condition in which he found himself. Osterberg, as he said, had now endured it for three days and so didn't mind the imprisonment; but with George it was different, and he had yet to get used to it.

The next two days were passed in this miserable captivity. Helmar chafed at the confinement, but was forced to put up with it. He often thought of leaving and trusting to good luck in the outside world, but Osterberg was always at his side, ready to point out the madness of such a proceeding.

At last the welcome news came that Arabi, probably tired of his soldiers' wanton slaughter, had issued a proclamation that every European must leave the city within a certain time or abide by the consequences.

This was news indeed, and the whites flocked in hundreds to the ships in the harbour. So great was the crush that Helmar and Osterberg were only just able to secure a passage in the last one to leave. They determined to go to Port Said and there apply to the British authorities for assistance. What they were to do after that, fate should decide; both able-bodied men, they had no doubt that they could make themselves useful. Helmar's idea, now that he could speak a little Arabic, was to try to become an interpreter.

It was a dreary journey to Port Said, but they reached it in safety and proceeded immediately to the British Consul. Helmar was to be spokesman and explain the object of their visit. After some delay, they were told an interview would be granted in about half-an-hour's time. Leaving the office, they strolled about in order to kill time.

"We are in luck," said George, as they walked arm-in-arm. "I wonder what will happen."

"Being Germans, possibly we shall be sent about our business," said Osterberg, "and after all, it's only to be expected."

"I don't think so," replied his friend; "you don't know these people. I'll bet something will be done for us."

At this moment he caught sight, through the window, of a man dressed in European clothes crossing the square. The figure was so familiar that he paused and looked again.

"By Jove! If I'm not very much mistaken, that's our old friend the doctor we met on the boat going to Constantinople!"

Osterberg looked across at the man approaching.

"You are right. It is he," he exclaimed, and they both made straight for the doctor.

"Ah, my friends, we meet sooner than we anticipated. I am delighted to see you, but am sorry for your plight. But come," he went on, shaking hands heartily, "this is no place to talk, we will go to my quarters."

Helmar and his friend followed the doctor to his rooms.

"So you managed to escape from Alexandria?" said Doctor Dixon, as he leant back in his chair after listening to the young men's story. "Well, considering all things, you are lucky. Arabi Pasha, or his followers, are about the most inhuman devils I ever came across. And to think Arabi was one of the Khedive's most trusted ministers! Well, well, we live and learn!"

"Now the point comes, what are we to do?" said George. "This rebellion has robbed us of our means of living, and we are simply thrown on the world without resource—at least without money. We have been to see the consul, but cannot do so for half-an-hour."

The doctor laughed. George felt angry at this outburst of merriment at their troubles, and his face showed it.

"There, there, my lad," said the officer, becoming serious, "I was not laughing at your troubles, but the way you put them. Now I dare say we can do something for you. You say you speak Arabic. Well," as George nodded in assent, "I'll see the consul and try to use my influence with him in getting you a job as interpreter. How'll that do?"

"Excellently," replied our hero, beaming with delight; "but how about Osterberg?"

"Ah, well, we'll look after him. He has his bank to go to, and I don't suppose for a moment Arabi will be allowed to remain in Alexandria for long. In fact, news came through this morning that the British warships were bombarding the place already, and if that is so, the blue-jackets will soon clear the town of the rabble. In the meantime provision will be made for him."

Osterberg thanked him for his kind words, and the trio fell to discussing their journey from Varna to Constantinople.

"By the way," said the doctor, "didn't you say that another fellow left the University with you? He played you a scurvy trick or something—didn't you say?"

"Yes, you mean Mark Arden," said Helmar quickly.

"Was that his name? You didn't tell me before. Strange——"

"Why, what do you mean?" asked both young men in a breath.

"Oh, it's nothing. Only some weeks ago a young German of that name came here and he was found some employment. I forget exactly what. Anyhow the fellow misbehaved himself—stole some money or something and was imprisoned. There was a frightful scene when sentence was passed on him. He swore revenge for what he called 'the insulting treatment,' was taken away to the cells, and three days afterwards escaped."

"What was he like?" asked George.

The doctor described him. There was no doubt about it, it was certainly Mark.

"The scoundrel," said Helmar, bitterly, "to think he should disgrace himself in such a manner! Has anything been heard of him since?"

"No, we found no trace at all, and I shouldn't be surprised if he made his way into the rebel camp. But come, we must get to business. Osterberg can remain here until we return."

Helmar followed his friend over to the consul's office. The doctor left him for a moment outside while he interviewed the arbitrator of his fate.

Whilst waiting the result, Helmar could not help thinking of the perfidious Mark. What a viper he had been, and how quickly he had again fallen across his path! One thing was certain, if ever Helmar met him again, he would extort from him the money he had stolen, and denounce him for the rascal he was.

His reflections were cut short by the door being thrown open and a sharp summons for him to enter.

George found himself in a bare-looking office. The only furniture consisted of a desk, one or two hard, uncomfortable chairs, and a long, wooden bench. For decoration the wall was covered with innumerable paper files and maps. He had no time for inspection. He was standing in front of the desk, seated at which was a slight man. He was partially bald, and his face matched his hair—it was brick-dust colour. His features were small, though clear and sharply cut, while his eyes were jet black and keenly penetrating. The doctor was standing beside him, and the pair eyed the young man as he stepped forward.

"German," said the man, without taking his eyes from Helmar's face. "Any relatives in the country?"

"No, sir," replied George without hesitation.

"Want work, eh? Um," and he bit the end of his pen; "you speak Arabic, Dr. Dixon tells me?"

"Yes, sir."

"How much do you know?" he asked in that language.

George replied in the same tongue, and the rest of the conversation was carried on in it.

"Well, I can't promise you anything now at once, but Dr. Dixon recommends you highly, so that if we require any one, I have no doubt you will suit. You speak Arabic well for a man only a few months in the country."

"I speak English and French as well, sir," broke in Helmar, "and——"

"Yes, yes, I have no doubt—that will do. You will hear from me as soon as it is possible."

The doctor smiled at the way the interview was closed, but George simply expressed his thanks and walked out. Presently the doctor joined him, and the two walked back to the quarters.

"Well, what do you think of him?" asked the doctor.

"Who? The consul? A smart-looking man."

"A little abrupt, eh?"

"Yes, but all business men are more or less like that. If he finds me something to do, it will be a relief, and anyway I can never thank you sufficiently for what you have done. It is strange, I always seem to be under obligations. First Mariam, then Naoum, and now you."

"Never mind that, my boy, every one must start in life, and to get that start one has to be under obligations to some one, if it's only your parents. Now about quarters? I'll arrange that you have a spare room with your friend in my house, and you must be my guests until something turns up. No, no more thanks, you've done quite enough in that line already."

In a few hours the two friends, Osterberg and George, were installed in the doctor's house. He was a bachelor, and his place was comfortably arranged. Everything he had he placed at their disposal, and for the next three or four days they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. At last the summons George had awaited came. After the doctor had finished his hospital duties he returned home with the announcement.

"Our fleet has bombarded Alexandria, and the blue-jackets have landed," he cried, as he stepped into the sitting-room. "You, Osterberg, will be able to return to your bank, and you, Helmar, the consul is going to send to the general commanding the forces there as an interpreter. Everything will be arranged here, you will be engaged at a certain salary before you go, and I believe you leave to-night."

The news was so good and had come so suddenly that neither of the young men knew what to say, they were so overjoyed. At length their feelings burst out in a torrent of thanks, from which the kindly doctor took refuge by leaving the room.