is to convince his fanatical admirers that for his own sake he ought to
be forced along a certain course. The game's as old as Adam. You fill
up a man like Sidi bin Tagim with tales about Jews--convince him that
Jews stand between Feisul and a kingdom--and he'll lend a hand in any
scheme ostensibly directed against Jews. Get me?"

"So would I!" swore Jeremy. "I'm against 'em too! I camped alongside
the Jordan Highlanders one time when--"

But we had had that story twice that evening with variations. He was
balancing his chair on two legs, so I pushed him over backward, and
before he could pick himself up again Grim resumed.

"Feisul is in Damascus, and the Syrian Convention has proclaimed him
king. That don't suit the French, who detest him. The feeling's
mutual. When Feisul went to Paris for the Peace Conference, the French
imagined he was easy. They thought, here's another of these Eastern
princes who can be taken in the old trap. So they staged a special
performance at the Opera for him, and invited him to supper afterward
behind the scenes with the usual sort of ladies in full war-paint in
attendance."

"Shall we cut that too?" suggested Mabel.

"Sure. Feisul did! He's not that kind of moth. Ever since then the
French have declared he's a hypocrite; and because he won't yield his
rights they've been busy inventing wrongs of their own and insisting on
immediate adjustment. The French haven't left one stone unturned that
could irritate Feisul into making a false move."