prosperous-looking sharpers--and so on and
so forth, they passed slowly down the long Sharia-Mahommed Ali, between
the frowning walls of two great Mosques, where the cannon balls of
Napoleon are still fast in the stone, and then up the sharp incline
into the Citadel itself.

Leaving the Arab driver in a paroxysm of tears because he had received
only one-third more than his lawful fare, Jock and Mac passed by the
sentries, through the cavernous mouth of the main gate into the inner
precincts of the Citadel. How powerful a fortress in days gone by it
must have been, they thought, but how short lived and unavailing it
would prove before modern artillery. They came to a halt before the
great Mosque of Mahommed Ali, and the fine, tapering minarets met with
their deepest approval. At the entrance they assumed the apologetic
sandals and were taken in hand by an obtrusive dragoman, who, besides
impressing them with his own importance, related with small
appreciation of truth fabulous facts concerning the edifice. They duly
noted his salient pronouncements, rewarded him with a few piastres and
"imshi yallah'ed" in duet when he demanded more. Then, in the late
afternoon sunlight, they stood on the edge of the cliff without. There
they talked of many things while looking out over that weird,
mysterious city, over its forests of graceful minarets, towards the
green delta beyond; across the Nile to the west where the Pyramids of
Gizeh stood silhouetted against the setting sun, and down into the
gloom in the valley to the east, where, silent and deserted, lay the
City of the Dead.

Stirred into activity once more by feelings of emptiness and thoughts
of their weekly square meal, they turned their backs upon the glory of
the Egyptian evening and wandered down to the depths again. They
jostled their way through the throng, human and animal, which made
progress difficult and the atmosphere strong. Spotting a couple of
donkeys in the charge of one Arab donkey boy, they schemed with each
other with a view to his undoing.

"Very gude, Noo Zealand," said the dusky one when approached. "Gib it
twenty piastres for stashion."

"All right, ole sport. You'll get it at t'other end, and make your
blanky bone-bags go. Savvy?"

They proceeded fairly satisfactorily at first, Ahmed only having to be
occasionally reprimanded for not producing sufficient speed on the part
of his donks. Then, while the Arab was in front of Mac, vainly