"Then you're on the wrong side, and you know it?" I suggested.

"The meat," he said, "is in the middle of the sandwich. In a
small way you might say I'm a doctor, staying on after a riot to
stitch up cuts. The quarrel was none of my making, although I
was in it and did what I could to help against the Turks. Like
everybody else who knows them, I admire the Turks and hate what
they stand for--hate their cruelty. I was with Lawrence across
the Jordan--went all the way to Damascus with him--saw the war
through to a finish--in case you choose to call it finished."

Vainly I tried to pin him down to personal reminiscences. He was
not interested in his own story.

"The British promised old King Hussein of Mecca that if he'd
raise an Arab army to use against the Turks, there should be a
united Arab kingdom afterward under a ruler of their own
choosing. The kingdom was to include Syria, Arabia and
Palestine. The French agreed. Well, the Arabs raised the army;
Emir Feisul, King Hussein's third son, commanded it; Lawrence
did so well that he became a legend. The result was, Allenby
could concentrate his army on this side of the Jordan and
clean up. He made a good job of it. The Arabs were naturally
cock-a-hoop."

I suggested that the Arabs with that great army could have
enforced the contract, but he laughed again.

"They were being paid in gold by the British, and had Lawrence to