dent, and tried to enforce their demands,
but I have taken them before the cadi, and had them punished with the
bastinado. Ah! they know Mustapha Cadi, the guide, and give him a wide
berth _by daylight_. But, monsieur, what might happen in the streets of
the old town should a Frank go there at night, I am afraid to say."

"Still, you promised."

"Ay, and will keep my word, if the monsieur agrees to the condition."

"Let me hear it!"

"I will procure a burnoose, you shall put the robe on, and be an Arab
for to-night."

John draws a breath of relief, he smiles.

"Willingly, Mustapha. Let us lose no time, I beg of you!"

"Then, monsieur, come!"

As he passes the clerk that worthy bends forward to say:

"Does monsieur know these people who have come from the steamer?"

John sees a list of names under his own.

Professor Sharpe and wife.
Lady Ruth Stanhope.
Colonel Lionel Blunt.
Miss Pauline Potter.

There they are, all present, and he hears the voice of Aunt Gwen in the
dining-room, even at the moment of his reading her name, gently chiding
a waiter for not serving the professor more promptly, always in a hurry,
but generally good-natured withal.

"They are friends of mine," he says, and then follows his Arab guide.

Once on the street John observes what is passing around him, and the
scene on the grand square is certainly lively enough, with the garrison
band discoursing sweet music, the numerous lights from _cafe_ and
_magasius de nouveautes_, and crowds moving about.

Presently they come to a bazaar, where every article known to oriental
ingenuity, from Zanzibar carpets, embroideries of Tunis, Damascus
cutlery, and odd jewelry to modern novelties can be found.

Here they enter.

The guide selects what he needs, and John pays for it, wondering what
sort of clumsiness he will display in the wearing of an Arab costume.

Until they reach the border of the old town upon the hill-side, there is
little need of his donning the ridiculous affair.

He casts many inquisitive glances upon his guide and other Arabs whom
they meet to see how they wear the burnoose.

"I reckon John Craig won't disgrace Chicago, if he isn't to the manner
born," he concludes.

"Now, monsieur will allow me," says his tall guide, leading him into a
dark corner.

There is some little difficulty experienced, but in the end John turns
Arab.

"Say not one word--if saluted, I will reply," is the last caution he
receives.

Then