“By the horns of Isis,” he whispered in disgust, “the most of them are babes!”

The robust noble turned his head and jeered good-naturedly under his breath.

“Mark the infant sneering at the buds.  But be of cheer.  One is there, ripe enough to sate your green appetite.”

“Nay! do you distribute them now?  Let me make my choice, then.”

But a general chorus of whispered protests arose.

“Hold, not so fast.  The fan-bearer first.  ’Twas he who hit upon the plan.”

The nose of the pursuing boat crept alongside the stern of the one pursued, and the oars rested in obedience to a whispered order.  The diagonal current which moved out from the Arabian shore, and the backward wash of water from the oars of the forward boat, heaved the head of the nobles’ barge toward its object.  The robust courtier leaned forward and made fast to his captive with the hook.  A sigh of approval and excitement ran through the group.

“Gods! how they will scatter!” the young lord tittered nervously.

“Nay, now, there must be no such thing,” the robust noble said, addressing them all.  “Mind you, we but come as guests.  It shall be left to the ladies to say how we shall abide with them.  Show me a light.”

The instant brilliance that followed proved that a hood had been lifted from a lamp.  One of the men held a cloak between it and the group on Senci’s boat.  Kenkenes raised himself.  The lamp discovered to his angry eyes the face of Har-hat.

“Now, hold this hook for me while I get aboard,” the fan-bearer chuckled.

With a single step the young sculptor crossed to the side of the barge and wrenched the hook from the hands of the man that held it.  For a moment he poised it above him, struggling with a mighty desire to bring it down on the head of the startled fan-bearer.  The youthful lord dropped from his point of vantage and half of the group retreated precipitately.  Har-hat drew back slowly and raised himself, as Kenkenes lowered the weapon.  For a space the two regarded each other savagely.  The contemplation endured only the smallest part of a moment, but it was eloquent of the bitterest mutual antagonism.  There was no relaxing in the rigid lines of the young sculptor’s figure, but the fan-bearer recovered himself immediately.

“Forestalled!” he laughed.  “Retreat!  We would not steal another man’s bliss though it be fourteen times his share!”

The oars fell and the boat darted back into the night, the affable sound of Har-hat’s raillery receding into silence with it.

Kenkenes flung the boat-hook into the Nile and returned to his bench, puzzled at the inordinate passion of hate in his heart for the fan-bearer.