prospect of passing the night with a crowd of Arabs was not pleasing.

Amiability being unavailing, I tried bribery, but found him adamantine.

I then produced a letter from the Resident of the Republic in Tunis,
recommending me to all the _bureaux indigenes_ of the country, my
translation of it being confirmed and even improved upon, at the expense
of veracity, by a spahi (native cavalryman) who happened to be present,
and threatened the man with the torments of the damned if he failed to
comply with the desires of his government.

"The Resident," was the reply, "is plainly a fine fellow. But he is not
the _ponsechossi_."

"Ponsechossi. What's that?"

"THIS," he said, excavating from under a pile of miscellaneous rubbish a
paper whereon was displayed the official stamp of the _Ponts et
Chaussees_--the Department of Public Works for whose servants this choice
apartment is--or rather ought to be--exclusively reserved: the rule is not
always obeyed.

"Bring me THIS"--tapping the document proudly--"and you have the room."

"Could I at least find a horse in the morning--a mule--a donkey--a camel?"

"We shall see!" And he slouched away.

There was nothing to be done with the man. Your incorruptible Oriental is
always disagreeable. Fortunately, he is rather uncommon.