Once more he arose and looked about him.
"However," he went on, "this time he is arguing to keep Klaneth and especially Zachel away while we talk, since Klaneth leans a great deal upon Zachel in these arguments. I have told them that I cannot bear their talk and that I will watch on Zachel's seat until it is finished. And it will not be finished until I return, for Zubran is clever, oh, very clever and he expects our talk to lead, ultimately, to permanent relief of his bore—"
He glanced slyly at the ivory deck.
"So do not fear, Wolf." He swayed upon his dwarfed legs. "Only as I go, slip sideways and keep your eyes on me. I will give you warning if warning is needed."
He waddled away, climbed into the overseer's seat. Kenton, obeying him, turned sleepily; rested arm on bench and head on arm.
"Wolf," said Gigi suddenly, "is there a shrub called the chilquor in the place from whence you came?"
Kenton stared at him, struck dumb by such a question. Yet Gigi must have some reason for asking it. Had he ever heard of such a shrub? He searched his memory.
"Its leaves are about so large." Gigi parted finger-tips for inches three. "It grows only upon the edge of the desert and it is rare—sorrowfully rare. Look you—perhaps you know it by another name. Perhaps this will enlighten you. You bruise the buds just before they open. Then you mix them with sesamum oil and honey and a little burned ivory and spread it like a paste over your head. Then you rub and rub and rub—so and so and so—" he illustrated vigorously upon his bald and shining pate.
"And after a little," he said, "the hair begins to sprout; like grain under the rains of spring it grows, until soon—lo—naked dome is covered. Instead of the light flying off affrighted from shining dome it plays within new hair. And once more the man who was bald is beautiful in the eyes of woman!
"By Nadak of the Goats; By Tanith, the dispenser of delights!" cried Gigi with enthusiasm. "That paste grows hair! How it does grow hair! Upon a melon would it grow it. Yes, even those planks rightly rubbed by it would sprout hair like grass. You are sure you do not know it?"
Struggling with his amazement Kenton shook his head. "Well," said Gigi, sorrowfully. "All this the chilquor buds can do. And so I search for them—" here he sighed mightily—"who would once more be beautiful in woman's eyes."
He sighed again. Then one by one he flicked the backs of the sleeping slaves with Zachel's whip—even the back of Sigurd.
"Yes," he murmured, "yes, they sleep."
His black eyes twinkled on Kenton, the slit mouth grinned.
"You wonder," he said, "why I talk of such trivial matters as shrubs and hair and bald pates, while you lie chained. Well, Wolf, these matters are far from trivial. They brought me here. And were I not here—would you have hope of freedom, think you? Ah, no," said Gigi. "Life is a serious matter. Therefore all parts of it must be serious. And therefore no part of it can be trivial. Let us rest for a moment. Wolf, while you absorb that great truth."
Again, one by one, he flicked the backs of the sleeping slaves.
"Well, Wolf," he went on, "now I shall tell you how I came aboard this ship because of the chilquor, its effect on hair and because of my bald pate. And you shall see how your fortune rests upon them. Wolf, when I was but a child in Nineveh, girls found me singularly attractive.
"'Gigi!' they would cry as I passed by them. 'Gigi, little love, little darling! Kiss me, Gigi!'"
Gigi's voice was ludicrously languishing; Kenton laughed.
"You laugh. Wolf!" observed the drummer. "Well—that makes us understand each other better."
His eyes twinkled impishly.
"Yes," he said, "'Kiss me,' they cried. And I would kiss them, because I found them all as singularly attractive as each found me. And as I grew, this mutual attraction increased. You have no doubt noticed," said Gigi complacently, "that I am an unusual figure of a man. But as I passed from adolescence my greatest beauty was, perhaps, my hair. It was long and black and ringleted, and it fell far over my shoulders. I perfumed it and cared for it, and the tender little vessels of joy who loved me would twine their fingers in it when I lifted them upon my head or when my head was on their knees. They joyed in it even as I.
"And then I had a fever. When I recovered, all my beautiful hair was gone!"
He paused to sigh again.
"There was a woman of Nineveh who pitied me. She it was who anointed my head with the chilquor paste; told me how to make it; showed me the growing shrub. After years of—ah, mutual attraction—I had fever again. And again my hair vanished. I was in Tyre then, Wolf, and made what haste I could to return to Nineveh. When I did return, the kindly woman was dead and a sand storm had covered the spot where she had pointed out to me the chilquor shrubs!"
He sighed, prodigiously. Kenton, amused and fascinated by his tale as he was, could not forbear a suspicious glance after that melancholy exhalation. It seemed overdone.
"Then before I could search further," went on Gigi, hurriedly, "word came to me that one who loved me—a princess,—was on her way to Nineveh to see me. Shame was mine and anguish! I could not meet her with a bald pate. For no one loves a bald man!"
"Nobody loves a fat man," grinned Kenton. He had spoken, it seemed, in his own tongue for the drummer apparently had not understood.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"I said," answered Kenton, gravely, "that for one whose excellencies are as great as yours, the loss of your hair should have been of no more consequence to a woman than the falling of one feather from a pet bird."
"That is a fine tongue of yours," remarked Gigi, stolidly. "That it can say so much in so few sounds."
"Well," he continued. "I was distressed indeed. I could have hidden —but I feared my will would not be strong enough to keep me hid. She was a very lovely princess, Wolf. Besides, I knew that if she found that I was in Nineveh, as find out she surely would, she would rout me out. She was a fair woman. And this is the one difference between the fair women and the dark—that the latter wait for you to come for them, but the former search for you. And I could go to no other city to hide—for in each of them were other women who admired me. What was I to do?"
"Why didn't you get a wig?" asked Kenton, so interested now in Gigi's tale that his chains were forgotten.
"I told you, Wolf, that they loved to thread their fingers through my locks," answered Gigi, severely. "Could any wig stay in place under such treatment? Not when the women were such as loved me—No! No! I will tell you what I did. And here is where you will see how my lost hair and you are entangled. The High Priest of Nergal in Nineveh was a friend of mine. I went to him and asked him first to work a magic that would plant my head afresh with hair. He was indignant—said that his art was not to be debased for such a common purpose.
"It was then. Wolf, that I began to have my suspicions of the real power of these sorcerers. I had seen this priest perform great magic. He had raised phantoms that had raised my hair—when I had it. How much easier then ought it to have been for him to have raised my hair without the trouble of raising the phantoms too? I suggested this. He grew more indignant— said that he dealt with gods, not barbers!
"But now I know better. He could not do it! I made the best of the matter, however, and asked him to put me for a while where my princess could not find me and where, weak willed as I am, I could not go to her. He smiled, and said he knew just the place. He inducted me as an acolyte to Nergal and gave me a token that he said would insure me recognition and good will from one he named Klaneth. Also he sealed me with certain vows, not to be broken. I took them cheerfully, thinking them but temporary, and his friend Klaneth the high priest of some hidden temple where I would be safe. I went to sleep that night trustfully, happy as a