Selìm received the garment neatly folded and nursed it lovingly, while his master gave an English pound into the merchant’s hand and counted the change for it. Then, when the merchant had taken wordy leave, they repaired together to the khan, it being then the cool of the evening, about the eleventh hour.
In the vaulted chamber cumbered with beasts and merchandise Saïd stayed to divest himself of the brown robe braided with red which had so lately been his pride, and the kirtle of blue which was beneath it, retaining only his vest and pantaloons, which years ago had been white. He gave the discarded clothes to his servant for bakshìsh, to the muleteer’s unbounded glee. Selìm assumed the dressing-gown forthwith, stroked it feelingly and moaned with delight. The blue shift, which was an old one but serviceable, he stowed in the sack of his trousers. Then he flung himself on the ground and fell to kissing Saïd’s feet very fervently, with broken exclamations of thanks and blessing. Saïd chid him for it, commanding him to get up on pain of his displeasure; but at heart he was well pleased. The cup of his grandeur seemed full to the brim at that minute. For the first time in his life he had played the patron.
As he was adjusting his new robe, Selìm helping him, a sound of mighty cursing rose upon his ears. It came from the door of the guest-chamber, where a lamp was burning already. Saïd stood a moment to listen, then entered, Selìm at his heels.
The young man who had declaimed that famous speech so hopefully in the morning was now the centre of a concerned group, roaring, his face distorted, in a towering rage.
“May Allah cut short his life! May the Qadi rot and all his race with him! May Allah destroy that wicked scribe from off the face of the earth! … Heard ye ever the like of it? I pay a great price for a writing to lead my tongue when the time should come for me to speak in the Mehkemeh. I give the half of my wealth to that foul pig of a scribe. And when I reach the court, behold the very same words almost in the mouth of my enemy. He has the first word; therefore my speech is valueless—a mere scroll to burn. I go to that scribe of Satan, and he smiles in his beard. Two men came to him in one day. How was he to know them for opponents in one suit? He laughs. … By Allah, he may think himself happy if I slay him not for refusing to give back the money.”
At this point Saïd withdrew to the far end of the room that he might chuckle unobserved. He was fervid in his whispered admiration of that scribe; and Selìm agreed that it was a quaint and merry trick, though of opinion that the money should be returned.
The young litigant, his frenzy spent, fell to moaning most pitifully and bewailing his wretched fate.
“Add to all this,” he blubbered, “that the hearing is not yet over. Judgment is deferred till tomorrow; and I have wasted my money—all that I brought with me—save only a few piastres which I set aside for the expenses of food and lodging. I have nothing left to buy witnesses for tomorrow. … My cause is lost! … Merciful Allah! I am ruined.”
“A zany!” whispered Saïd to his henchman. “But for such blockheads as this, I ask thee, how should wise men prosper?” He called loudly to the servant to bring something good to eat, and after that was silent for a space, his mouth being full for the most part. He made a favour of allowing Selìm to eat with him, though in truth he was most glad of the company. At last, having swallowed a dose of seething, bitter coffee, brought straight from the brazier by the bare-legged one, he gave utterance to his repletion and ordered a narghileh.
Now Saïd, being full and his mind vacant of business, began to indulge a feeling not uncommon with the great and prosperous. His soul inclined to dalliance and the joys of female society. He wished that Hasneh was there; but not for long. The delights of the city must be many, and Hasneh had been his for seven years, so that there was no more sweetness left in her. Moreover, she had failed in her duty of childbearing. He had long purposed to supplement her with another woman as soon as he should be rich enough. He looked at Selìm, who was still busy gobbling oily rice, with both hands cramming his mouth. Then he whispered a question, slyly watchful of his servant’s face.
“No, by Allah!” the other sputtered with indignation. “Your honour mistakes. Selìm is not that kind of man. I would do all things to serve thee, O my master; but lead thee to such a place, I cannot.”
“Thou mistakest my meaning,” whispered Saïd, soothingly. “I never supposed thee other than an honest man—never!—if it were my last word: never! I did but seek thy counsel, being a stranger in the city.”
Selìm was soon mollified.
“That is a very different thing, O my master; but in truth I know nothing of such matters. There are houses in the Christian and Jewish quarters—Ah, the wicked unbelievers! It was a good word thou spakest about destroying them. There are houses, I say, where women sing and dance by night. There be Nazarenes in all the taverns who will guide thee to them for money. But I advise thee not to go; for evil men abound in those places. At the least, if thou art bent on it, leave the bulk of thy money here, with the lord of the khan, who will give thee
