"Yes, Hassan. How did you lose your money?"
"I hab no money, Mister. But I hab a pearl. My word, Mister, I tell you
my yarn about that pearl. My beauty beeg pearl. White pearl--more white
than snow-white! my pearl!"
The thin-framed swarthy Arab, with the flashing eyes and glistening
teeth, quivered with the intensity of his recollection.
"My beauty pearl. My beeg white pearl. My pearl of snow-white,"
he murmured as in a dreamy reverie he subdued the light of his great
black eyes.
"But you never saw snow. How can you talk about a snow-white pearl?"
"Mister, I bin steward boy on beeg steamer. I been eberywhere. I bin
in London, I bin in Antwerp. I bin see snow all over. That how I talk
about my snow pearl. I tell you my yarn."
Hassan smoothed down his white jacket, lit a lean cigarette, rolled
the incense--thrifty smoker that he was--as a sweet morsel under the
tongue, permitted it to drift lazily from his lips, and gave his story.
"I bin deck hand on pearling lugger. To be spell about with wind pump.
Sometimes I work on dinghy. Two or three times I dibe--not much dibe.
I carn stand that work. Not strong for that so heavy work.
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