in dropping cowrie shells or pebbles into the holes. When the number in a
particular hollow came to a certain amount with the addition of the one
dropped in, you won the contents.

In most places the coffee was served in Arab fashion, not Turkish. In the
latter case it is sweet and thick and the tiny cup is half full of
grounds; in the former the coffee is clear and bitter and of unsurpassable
flavor. The diminutive cup is filled several times, but each time there is
only a mouthful poured in. Tea is served in small glasses, without milk,
but with lots of sugar. The spoons in the glasses are pierced with holes
like tea-strainers so that the tea may be stirred without spilling it.

There was in particular one booth I could never tire watching. The old man
who owned it was a vender of pickles. In rows before him were bottles and
jars and bowls containing pickles of all colors--red, yellow, green,
purple, white, and even blue. Above his head were festoons of gayly
painted peppers. He had a long gray beard, wore a green turban and a
flowing robe with a gold-braided waistcoat. In the half-lights of the
crowded, covered bazaar his was a setting in which Dulac would have
revelled.

At Museyib we led a peaceful, uneventful existence--completely shut in by
the mud. We had several bazaar rumors about proposed attacks upon the
engineers who were surveying for a railroad that was to be built to Hilleh
for the purpose of transporting the grain-crop to the capital. Nothing
materialized, however. The conditions were too poor to induce even the
easily encouraged Arabs to raid. One morning when I was wandering around
the gardens on the outskirts of the town I came across some jackals and
shot one with my Webley revolver. It was running and I fired a number of
times, and got back to town to find that my shooting had started all sorts