That night at poker at the club Peter sat next to Prince
Abdul, who had come from a reception at the Grand vizier 's
and still wore his decorations. Decorations now fascinated
Peter, and those on the coat of the young prince he regarded
with wide-eyed awe. He also regarded Abdul with wide-eyed
awe, because he was the favorite nephew of the Sultan, and
because he enjoyed the reputation of having the worst
reputation in Turkey. Peter wondered why. He always had found
Abdul charming, distinguished, courteous to the verge of
humility, most cleverly cynical, most brilliantly amusing. At
poker he almost invariably won, and while doing so was so
politely bored, so indifferent to his cards and the cards
held by others, that Peter declared he had never met his
equal.

In a pause in the game, while some one tore the cover off a
fresh pack, Peter pointed at the star of diamonds that
nestled behind the lapel of Abdul's coat.

"May I ask what that is?" said Peter.

The prince frowned at his diamond sunburst as though it
annoyed him, and then smiled delightedly.

"It is an order," he said in a quick aside, "bestowed only
upon men of world-wide fame. I dined to-night," he explained,
"with your charming compatriot, Mr. Joseph Stimson."

"And Joe told?" said Peter.