journey to comply with etiquette I asked him whether Ahmed might
not be untied. The thong cutting the man's wrists. Sheikh hen
Nazir gave the necessary order and it was obeyed at once. The
liquid-eyed rascal with the priceless amber necklace then led
away the escort, Ahmed included, to some place where they could
stall the horses, and--side-by-side, lest any question of
precedence should be involved, Anazeh and I followed ben Nazir
into the house.

We were not the only guests there. He ushered us into a square
room, in which outrageous imported furniture, with gilt and
tassels on it, stood out like loathsome sores against rugs and
cushions fit for the great Haroun-al-Raschid's throne room. Any
good museum in the world would have competed to possess the rugs,
but the furniture was the sort that France sends eastward in the
name of "culture"--stuff for "savages" to sit on and be civilized
while the white man bears the burden and collects the money.

There were half-a-dozen Arabs reclining on two bastard Louis-
something-or-other settees, who rose to their feet as we entered.
There was another man, sitting on a cushion in a corner by
himself, who did not get up. He wore a white head-dress exactly
like our host's, and seemed to consider himself somebody very
important indeed. After one swift searching glance at us he went
into a brown study, as if a mere sheikh and a Christian alien
were beneath his notice.

We were introduced first of all to the men who had stood up to
greet us, and that ceremony took about five minutes. The Arab
believes he ought to know all about how you feel physically, and