"The old man is crazy after the two Thibetans,
and I can't see his game. He does not wish me to publish my own
volume first. That is why he has given me the 'marble heart,' and
taken them into his house. Their wing of the Banker's Folly is
now an Eastern idolaters' temple. If I could only hook on to the
'Moonshee,' I might make a 'scoop'--a clean scoop--on old Fraser.
God! how my book would sell if I could only get it out first. And
yet I dare not offend this old scholar, Andrew Fraser. He must be
true to me. He has read to me all the original manuscript of his
own half-finished work. He must trust to me, and he has promised
to give me a resume of their disclosures also after they leave.
The Thibetan Prince will only be here two weeks longer."
"Then old Fraser will take me to his heart again." Alaric Hobbs
reflected on his vain attempt to try the Tunguse, Chinook, Zuni,
Apache, Sioux, and Esquimaux dialects on the handsome Prince Djiddin,
whose Oriental magnificence was even now the despairing admiration
of the two pretty housemaids.
"My august master cannot speak to any one but the great scholar
whom he came here to see. He soon returns to his retirement in his
palace in the Karakorum Mountains. And he never will emerge thence!"
solemnly said the Moonshee, adding in a whisper: "He may, by the
grace of Buddha, be re-incarnated as the Dalai-Lama. He springs from
the loins of kings.
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