ltan.

'I,' said the prisoner, in a very subdued voice,--'I beg to state, for
the good of your service, that I am nothing--I am a poor man.'

'What's your business?'

'I am a poet, at your service; what can I do more?'

'A poet!' cried one of the roughest of the Turcomans; 'what is that good
for?'

'Nothing,' answered Aslan Sultan, in a rage; 'he won't fetch ten
tomauns;[16] poets are always poor, and live upon what they can cozen
from others. Who will ransom a poet? But if you are so poor,' said Aslan
Sultan, 'how do you come by those rich clothes?'

'They are part of a dress of honour,' returned the poet, 'which was
lately conferred upon me by the Prince of Shiraz, for having written
some verses in his praise.'

Upon which the clothes were taken from him, a sheep-skin cloak given to
him in return, and he was dismissed for the present. Then came the short
man.

'Who are you?' said the chief: 'what is your profession?'

'I am a poor cadi,' answered the other.

'How came you to sleep in a fine bed, if you are poor?' said his
interrogator. 'You father of a dog, if you lie, we'll take your head
off! Confess that you are rich! All cadies are rich: they live by
selling themselves to the highest bidder.'

'I am the cadi of Galadoun, at your service,' said the prisoner. 'I was
ordered to Ispahan by the governor to settle for the rent of a village
which I occupy.'

'Where is the money for your rent?' said Aslan.

'I came to say,' answered the cadi, 'that I had no money to give, for
that the locusts had destroyed all my last year's crops, and that there
had been a want of water.'

'Then after all, what is this fellow worth?' said one of the gang.

'He is worth a good price,' replied the chief, 'if he happens to be a
good cadi, for then the peasants may wish him back again; but if not, a
_dinar_[17] is too much for him. We must keep him: perhaps he is of
more value than a merchant. But let us see how much this other fellow is
likely to fetch.'

They then brought the rough man before them, and Aslan Sultan questioned
him in the usual manner--'What are you?'

'I am a _ferash_' (a carpet-spreader), said he, in a very sulky manner.

'_A ferash!_' cried out the whole gang--'a ferash! The fellow lies! How
came you to sleep in a fine bed?' said one.

'It was not mine,' he answered, 'it was my master's.'

'He lies! he lies!' they all cried out: 'he is a merchant--you are a
merchant. Own it, or we'll put you to d