Opposite to him, ten paces or so distant from me, Jimgrim Suliman ben Saoud was holding a rival show.

It seemed about an even bet which was making greater headway.

Those who were more or less drunk, and all the younger sheikhs had eyes and ears for nothing but the dancing girls.
They were outrageous hussies.

They wore more clothes than a Broadway chorus lady, and rather less paint, but if they were symbols of the Moslem paradise (as a learned Arab once assured me that they are meant to be) then, as I answered the Arab on that occasion, "me for hell." But none of those sheikhs had ever seen Broadway, so you could hardly blame them.
Abdul Ali of Damascus seemed to have his arrangements with the men in his corner cinched at last to his satisfaction.

He walked a little unsteadily across the room, apparently to make his peace with Suliman ben Saoud.