"No, there's not enough in that for thirty thousand words. I
haven't any idea at all--never wrote a story of adventure--never
wrote anything longer than six thousand words. But I'll keep my
eye open for something that will do. By the way--by Jove! Travis,
where are we?"

They looked briskly around them, and the bustling, breezy water-
front faded from their recollections. They were in a world of
narrow streets, of galleries and overhanging balconies. Craziest
structures, riddled and honeycombed with stairways and passages,
shut out the sky, though here and there rose a building of
extraordinary richness and most elaborate ornamentation. Color
was everywhere. A thousand little notes of green and yellow, of
vermilion and sky blue, assaulted the eye. Here it was a doorway,
here a vivid glint of cloth or hanging, here a huge scarlet sign
lettered with gold, and here a kaleidoscopic effect in the
garments of a passer-by. Directly opposite, and two stories above
their heads, a sort of huge "loggia," one blaze of gilding and
crude vermilions, opened in the gray cement of a crumbling facade,
like a sudden burst of flame. Gigantic pot-bellied lanterns of
red and gold swung from its ceiling, while along its railing stood
a row of pots--brass, ruddy bronze, and blue porcelain--from which
were growing red saffron, purple, pink, and golden tulips without
number. The air was vibrant with unfamiliar noises. From one of
the balconies near at hand, though unseen, a gong, a pipe, and
some kind of stringed instrument wailed and thundered in unison.
There was a vast shuffling of padded soles and a continuous
interchange of singsong monosyllables, high-pitched and staccato,
while from every hand rose the strange aromas of the East--