among themselves, because an individual cuts his throat with a knife now
and then, that is no reason why knives in general should not be kept for
sale in shops? It was plain to them that Halil was no born trader. Yet
he was perfectly satisfied with the little profit he made, and it never
occurred to him to wish for anything he had not got.

Consequently when he now found himself the possessor of five thousand
piastres, he was very much puzzled as to what he should do with such a
large amount. The things he really desired were far, far away, quite out
of his reach in fact. He would have liked to lead fleets upon the sea
and armies marshalled in battle array. He would have liked to have built
cities and fortresses. He would have liked to have raised up and cast
down pashas, dispensed commands, and domineered generally. But a
beggarly five thousand piastres would not go very far in that direction.
It was too much from one point of view and too little from another, so
that he really was at a loss what to do with it.

His booth looked out upon that portion of the bazaar where there was a
vacant space separated from the trading booths by lofty iron railings.
This vacant space was a slave-market. Here the lowest class of slaves
were freely offered for sale. Every day Halil saw some ten to twenty of
these human chattels exhibited in front of his booth. It was no new
sight to him.

In this slave-market there were none of those pathetic scenes which
poets and romance writers are so fond of describing when, for instance,
the rich traders of Dirbend offer to the highest bidder miracles of
loveliness, to be the sport of lust and luxury, beautiful Circassian and
Georgian maidens, whose cheeks burn with shame at the bold rude gaze of
the men, and whose eyes overflow with tears when their new masters