"And these commissions, what do they do?"

"They make Reports," said Abdul, beginning to yawn as if
the continued brain exercise of conversation were fatiguing
his intellect, "excellent reports. We have had some that
are said to be perfect models of the very best Turkish."
"And what do they recommend?"

"I don't know," said the Sultan. "We don't read them for
that. We like to read them simply as Turkish."

"But what," I urged, "do you do with them? What steps do
you take?"

"We send them all," replied the little man, puffing at
his pipe and growing obviously drowsy as he spoke, "to
Woodrow Wilson. He can deal with them. He is the great
conciliator of the world. Let him have--how do you say
it in English, it is a Turkish phrase--let him have his
stomach full of conciliation."

Abdul dozed on his cushions for a moment. Then he reopened
his eyes. "Is there anything else you want to know," he
asked, "before I retire to the Inner Harem?"

"Just one thing," I said, "if you don't mind. How do you
stand internationally? Are you coming into the New League
of Nations?"

The Sultan shook his head.