If any should imagine that time is money in Morocco, let them
undertake a shopping expedition in Tangier, the town on which, if
anywhere in Morocco, occidental energy has set its seal. Not that one
such excursion will suffice, unless, indeed, the purchaser be of the
class who have more money than wit, or who are absolutely at the mercy
of the guide and interpreter who pockets a commission upon every
bargain he brings about. For the ordinary mortal, who wants to spread
his dollars as far as it is possible for dollars to go, a tour of
inspection, if not two or three, will be necessary before such a feat
can be accomplished. To be sure, there is always the risk that between
one visit and another some coveted article may find its way into the
hands of a more reckless, or at least less thrifty, purchaser, but
that risk may be safely taken.

[Illustration: _Albert, Photo., Tunis._

A TUNISIAN SHOPKEEPER.]

There is something very attractive in the small cupboard-like shops
of the main street. Their owners sit cross-legged ready for a chat,
looking wonderfully picturesque in cream-coloured jelláb, or in
semi-transparent white farrajîyah, or tunic, allowing at the throat
a glimpse of saffron, cerise, or green from the garment beneath. The
white turban, beneath which shows a line of red Fez cap, serves as a
foil to the clear olive complexion and the dark eyes and brows, while
the faces are in general goodly to look upon, except where the lines
have grown coarse and sensuous.

So strong is the impression of elegant leisure, that it is difficult
to imagine that these men expect to make a living from their trade,