on. His face, extremely handsome,
betokened that he was a man of intelligence and sensibility. Two
brilliant, sparkling eyes illumined his countenance and the curl of
his carmine lips was that of one who while kind--without condescension
and the odiousness of patronage--to all whom the mischance of fate had
made his inferiors in fortune, would not bend the fawning knee to any
whom the world calls great. Behind him stood a giant blackamore, he of
the voice that had saluted Mr. Middleton. The blackamore was dressed
in crimson silk sparkling with an array of gold lace, but his immense
turban was snowy white. Against his shoulder reposed a great
glittering scimetar and a dozen silver-mounted pistols and poniards
were thrust in his sash.

Presently the young man removed the golden mouth-piece of the
narghileh from his lips and regarding Mr. Middleton fixedly, remarked:

"There is but one God and Mohammed is his Prophet."

Now this was not the doctrine Mr. Middleton had been taught in the
Methodist Sunday School in Janesville, Wisconsin, but disliking to
dispute with one so engaging as the handsome Moslem, and having read
in a book of etiquette that it was very ill mannered to indulge in
theological controversy and, moreover, being conscious of the presence
of the blackamore with the glittering scimetar, he began to make his
excuses for an immediate departure. But the Moslem would not hear to
this.

"Mesrour will bear your garments to Mr. Cohen. From your visage, I
judge you to be a person I wish to know. I take you to be endowed with
probity, discretion, and valor, and not without wit, good taste, and
good manners. Mesrour, relieve the gentleman of his burden."

Whereupon Mr. Middleton was compelled to state that it was the garment
on his back that was to go to Mr. Cohen, though he feared this
confession would cause him to fall in the estimation of the Moslem.
But the stranger relaxed none of his deference at this intimation that
Mr. Middleton was not a person of consequence.

"Mesrour, take two sequins from the ebony chest. The price the
extortionate tailor charges, is some thirty piastres. Bring back the
change and a receipt."

"Salaam, effendim!" and Mesrour bowed until the crown of his head was
presented toward his master, together with the palms of his hands, and
in this posture backed from the room, leaving Mr. Middleton
speculating upon the wonder and alarm little Mr. Cohen would
experience at beholding the g