The traditional Arab proposed, in the traditional way, to run down Cheops, cross the eighth of a mile of sand intervening between it and the tall pyramid of Cephron, ascend to Cephron’s summit and return to us on the top of Cheops—­all in nine minutes by the watch, and the whole service to be rendered for a single dollar.  In the first flush of irritation, I said let the Arab and his exploits go to the mischief.  But stay.  The upper third of Cephron was coated with dressed marble, smooth as glass.  A blessed thought entered my brain.  He must infallibly break his neck.  Close the contract with dispatch, I said, and let him go.  He started.  We watched.  He went bounding down the vast broadside, spring after spring, like an ibex.  He grew small and smaller till he became a bobbing pigmy, away down toward the bottom—­then disappeared.  We turned and peered over the other side—­forty seconds—­eighty seconds —­a hundred—­happiness, he is dead already!—­two minutes—­and a quarter —­“There he goes!” Too true—­it was too true.  He was very small, now.  Gradually, but surely, he overcame the level ground.  He began to spring and climb again.  Up, up, up—­at last he reached the smooth coating—­now for it.  But he clung to it with toes and fingers, like a fly.  He crawled this way and that—­away to the right, slanting upward—­away to the left, still slanting upward—­and stood at last, a black peg on the summit, and waved his pigmy scarf!  Then he crept downward to the raw steps again, then picked up his agile heels and flew.  We lost him presently.  But presently again we saw him under us, mounting with undiminished energy.  Shortly he bounded into our midst with a gallant war-whoop.  Time, eight minutes, forty-one seconds.  He had won.  His bones were intact.  It was a failure.  I reflected.  I said to myself, he is tired, and must grow dizzy.  I will risk another dollar on him.

He started again.  Made the trip again.  Slipped on the smooth coating —­I almost had him.  But an infamous crevice saved him.  He was with us once more—­perfectly sound.  Time, eight minutes, forty-six seconds.

I said to Dan, “Lend me a dollar—­I can beat this game, yet.”

Worse and worse.  He won again.  Time, eight minutes, forty-eight seconds.  I was out of all patience, now.  I was desperate.—­Money was no longer of any consequence.  I said, “Sirrah, I will give you a hundred dollars to jump off this pyramid head first.  If you do not like the terms, name your bet.  I scorn to stand on expenses now.  I will stay right here and risk money on you as long as Dan has got a cent.”

I was in a fair way to win, now, for it was a dazzling opportunity for an Arab.  He pondered a moment, and would have done it, I think, but his mother arrived, then, and interfered.  Her tears moved me—­I never can look upon the tears of woman with indifference—­and I said I would give her a hundred to jump off, too.