morning.

This act of courtesy, due so little to my own initiative,
and so largely to Joe's, gained for me many
friends in and about the mosque--not only those of
the dead man, one of whom rowed a caique, but among
the priests who formed the funeral cortege--a fact
unknown to me until Joe imparted it. "Turk-man
say you good man, effendi," was the way he put it.
"You stoop over yourselluf humble for their dead."

On another occasion Joe again stood by my side
when, with hat off and with body in a half kotow, I
sat before the Pasha, who was acting chief of police
after that stormy Armenian week--it was over really
in five days.

"Most High Potentate," Joe began, translating
my plain Anglo-Saxon "Please, sir," into Eastern
hyperbolics, "I again seek your Excellency's presence
to make my obeisance and to crave your permission
to transfer to cheap paper some of the glories of this
City of Turquoise and Ivory. This, if your Highness
will deign to remember, is not the first time I have
trespassed. Twice before have I prostrated myself,
and twice has your Sublimity granted my request."

"These be troublous times," puffed his Swarthiness
through his mustache, his tobacco-stained fingers
meanwhile rolling a cigarette; a dark-skinned,