the Sultan, in reward for his ability and faithfulness?

I must admit that I myself have been his debtor--
not once, but many times. It was this same quick-
sighted, quick-witted Levantine who lifted me from
my sketching stool and stood me on my feet in the
plaza of the Hippodrome one morning just in time
to prevent my being trodden under foot by six Turks
carrying the body of their friend to the cemetery--
in time, too, to save me from the unforgivable sin
among Orientals, of want of reverence for their dead.
I had heard the tramp of the pall-bearers, and supposing
it to be that of the Turkish patrol, had kept
at work. They were prowling everywhere, day and
night, and during those days they passed every ten
minutes--nine soldiers in charge of an officer of
police--all owing to the fact that some five thousand
Armenians, anxious to establish a new form of government,
had been wiped out of existence only the
week before.

Once on my feet (Joe accomplished his purpose
with the help of my suspenders) and the situation
clear, I had sense enough left to uncover my head
and stand in an attitude of profound reverence until
the procession had passed. I can see them now--the
coffin wrapped in a camel's-hair shawl, the dead man's
fez and turban resting on top. Then I replaced my
hat and finished the last of the six minarets of the
mosque gleaming like opals in the soft light of the