By FREDERIC S. ISHAM 
 
 The Strollers 
 Illustrated by 
 12mo, Cloth 
 
 Under the Rose 
 Illustrated by 
 12mo, Cloth 
 
 Black Friday 
 Illustrated by 
 12mo, Cloth 
 
 The Lady of the Mount 
 Illustrated by 
 12mo, Cloth 
 
 Half a Chance 
 Illustrated by 
 12mo, Cloth 
 
 The Social Buccaneer 
 Illustrated by 
 12mo, Cloth 
 
 A Man and His Money 
 Illustrated by 
 12mo, Cloth 
 
 Harrison Fisher 
 $1.50 
 
 Howard Chandler Christy 
 $1.50 
 
 Harrison Fisher 
 $1.50 
 
 Lester Ralph 
 $1.50 
 
 Herman Pfeifer 
 $1.50 
 
 W. B. King 
 $1.50 
 
 Max J. Spero 
 $1.25 Net
 
 " Now when a woman, or girl turns away "
 
 ALADDIN 
 FROM BROADWAY 
 
 By 
 FREDERIC S. ISHAM 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 WILLIAM THACHER VAN DRESSER 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1913 
 THE BosBs-MERRitL COMPANY 
 
 PRESS or 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, M. Y.
 
 SRLfi 
 URU 
 
 ' 
 
 But if the husband give sentence of divorce to 
 her a third time, saying "Thou art free," or "I 
 divorce you," three times, it is not lawful for 
 him to take her back again, until she shall have 
 married another husband and been divorced by 
 that second husband. Then may the first husband 
 remarry her whom he had set from him and no 
 blame shall attach to any of them. 
 
 KORAN, CHAPTER II, VERSE 226.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTKR PAGB 
 
 I A CASUAL ENCOUNTER 1 
 
 II A VOICE FROM AFAR 9 
 
 III AN ASTONISHING PROPOSITION .... 26 
 
 IV LIGHT OF LIFE 39 
 
 V IN THE GARDEN 60 
 
 VI THE SURPRISE ....... 69 
 
 VII A CALLER 83 
 
 VIII AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON .... 103 
 
 IX IN THE STABLE . . . . . . . 117 
 
 X ATAMAD'S . . . . . . . . 128 
 
 XI THE SUMMONS 142 
 
 XII A VERY HOLY MAN .159 
 
 XIII MENACING MOMENTS 176 
 
 XIV CAPTIVE 192 
 
 XV THE CAVALCADE 204 
 
 XVI VARYING FORTUNES ...... 216 
 
 XVII THE GRAVEYARD . 231 
 
 XVIII AT THE GATE 246 
 
 XIX NEAR THE CITADEL 260 
 
 XX AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 276 
 
 XXI THE BRAZIER 293 
 
 XXII ONEWAY . 310 
 
 XXXIII A SURPRISE 324 
 
 XXIV MARY CARRUTHERS 337 
 
 XXV THE MISSION GARDENS 348
 
 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY
 
 ALADDIN FROM 
 BROADWAY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 X CASUAL ENCOUNTER 
 
 DAMASCUS! "The Street that is called 
 Straight." A dervish sitting on his heels be- 
 fore a pastry-shop, his cloak Biblical, of many hues. 
 Eyes bold, reckless, a little famished-looking. Dark 
 handsome features, too young almost for the beard 
 that shines like a flame across the dun-colored 
 caftan. A beard, which to the western eye seems 
 somewhat superfluous, especially as it is not natur- 
 ally red, but has been so dyed to proclaim a returned 
 Mecca pilgrim. Beneath the rags, a lithe graceful 
 figure. 
 
 "Look at him," said an elderly American woman 
 of the conventional "personally conducted" type, 
 passing at that moment. "What fine examples of 
 physical manhood some of these Mohammedans 
 are!"
 
 2 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "This one looks as if he might do a Marathon, or 
 one of those long pole, high stunts our college boys 
 go in for," returned her companion, a pert Buckeye 
 miss. 
 
 "High stunts, indeed! He looks to me as if he 
 might have been picked up and transported from 
 some wild Afghan frontier. Don't you think so, 
 Lord Fitzgerald?" 
 
 The dervish gave a slight start, but neither of the 
 ladies observed. They had turned to a languid, 
 spare, middle-aged gentleman who joined them at 
 that moment. 
 
 "I?" said this individual, adjusting a single eye- 
 glass, which he focused on the object of their con- 
 versation. "Yes, he does look like one of those beg- 
 gars we see in northern India, the type our govern- 
 ment enlists for soldiers to keep them from being 
 brigands, don't you know." He was decidedly face- 
 tious about it. 
 
 "You mean you pay them for not robbing you 
 and cutting your throats?" 
 
 "Quite so. Cheaper to make martial heroes of 
 them and let them cut one another's throats. Can't 
 quite make this chap out, though." More contem- 
 platively. "He isn't a Jat."
 
 A CASUAL ENCOUNTER 3 
 
 For a few minutes they stood there, until the ob- 
 ject of their regard turned deliberately and looked at 
 them. His eyes cut up and down over the young 
 lady in an almost insolent appraising fashion, did 
 likewise to the older one, and then passed to Lord 
 Fitzgerald. They took in comprehensively that 
 gentleman's boots, his turned-up trousers, the rough 
 tweed coat and the ultra-smart tourist hat. They 
 stared into the single glass. For a few moments, it 
 was a question which would turn away first, the 
 brilliant, hungry, albeit satirical eyes of the dervish, 
 or the apathetic gray one behind the traditional 
 round "window-pane." But it is against all tradi- 
 tion for any Britisher to let himself be stared out of 
 countenance, especially by a "blooming heathen," 
 and so, probably, the "window-pane" and the gray 
 eye behind it would have won in the visual contest, 
 had not the guide mixture of Turk, Greek and 
 what-not a hodge-podge from the ancient cauldron 
 who gladly threw his fortunes with the despised 
 visitors from the West whenever opportunity of- 
 fered, now created a divertisement. 
 
 "These holy pjjgrims do not like to be stared at," 
 he observed in low uneasy tones. "And in Damas- 
 cus, especially."
 
 4 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Well, by Jove!" The Englishman transferred 
 his stare to the guide. "That's good! A cat may 
 look at a king," he chuckled, "but a subject of the 
 king may not This is delicious ! Positively ! By 
 Jove!" 
 
 "These dervishes are very fanatical," murmured 
 the hodge-podge ingratiatingly. 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure he doesn't look very ferocious," 
 interposed the younger woman airily. "His lips 
 aren't at all like a Mohammedan's. They're more 
 like an American's." 
 
 The dervish did not stare. He seemed absorbed 
 now in pious meditation. 
 
 "Still I would advise " And the guide made a 
 motion as if to draw them away. "The city is most 
 disturbed at present." 
 
 "Pooh! We're not afraid, are we, aunty?" said 
 the younger with all the spirit of one from the land 
 of the free. 
 
 "Not at all, of course, my dear. Only" some- 
 what nervously "it is well to be prudent. Per- 
 haps it is for the best that we are leaving the city to- 
 night. All the other tourists have gone except our-
 
 A CASUAL ENCOUNTER 5 
 
 selves and Lord Fitzgerald here. By the way, when 
 are you leaving, Lord Fitzgerald?" 
 
 "Haven't decided." Languidly. "Left my 
 car at Balbeek. My intention, you know, to motor 
 across the desert." 
 
 "Dear me!" observed the other. "Aren't you 
 afraid of those wild Bedouins? For my part, I 
 don't see why people do those risky things. Like 
 that young American you were telling us about last 
 night at the hotel, the one you had that ridiculous 
 wager with " 
 
 "You mean Jack Stanton, aunty," interposed the 
 girl. 
 
 The dervish murmured another holy passage. His 
 accents seemed rather vicious and he gripped harder 
 the big smooth beads of the string most Moham- 
 medans carry. "As I was going to tell you, Lord 
 Fitzgerald, last night when we were interrupted by 
 that dragoman, I know all about this Mr. Stanton 
 from a chum of mine. Or rather, I know all about 
 his love-affair." The dervish fingered his beads 
 faster. "His people had family, were no end of 
 swells, and all that, only unfortunately, their income
 
 6 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 was of a diminishing kind. To make a long story 
 short, Jack Stanton ultimately came in for only a 
 paltry fifty thousand and had a lot of expensive 
 tastes. Of course he stood no chance at all with the 
 girl in the case. It is only in novels the poor young 
 man ever does. She married Archie Osborne 
 whose father is one of those 'interlocking directors' 
 and holds the combination on half a dozen or so of 
 our biggest trusts. Fancy a poor man being a rival 
 of the son of an 'interlocked ! Just the same, when 
 she floated up the aisle, to the Lohengrin music, and 
 gave her hand to the gilded youth, I guess it jolted 
 Jack Stanton's heart some. It must have been about 
 that time he made that silly wager with you, Lofd 
 Fitzgerald. He wanted to do something desperate. 
 All men do, under the circumstances," she jeered 
 flippantly. 
 
 A half articulate sound broke from the dervish's 
 throat. He was growing more and more impatient. 
 
 "You say he had but a fortune of fifty thousand?" 
 observed Lord Fitzgerald more gravely. "Then 
 I'm afraid our wager will " 
 
 "My Lord madam " The guide interrupted 
 them now imperatively. The dervish had made an
 
 A CASUAL ENCOUNTER 7 
 
 abrupt and emphatic movement. It might have been 
 construed as a menacing one. "That dervish I 
 have been watching him We must really go, 
 or I won't be answerable. We are disturbing him, 
 and as I said before, dervishes do not like to be an- 
 noyed while at prayer. Sometimes they run amuck 
 and then " 
 
 "Quite right," said the elder lady hurriedly. "We 
 certainly ought not to stay here any longer. Just 
 look how his eyes flash ! I don't believe we should 
 even remain in the streets of this city any longer, 
 after all we have heard about the feeling against 
 foreigners. Some of these other people, in passing, 
 have cast decidedly hostile glances upon us." 
 
 "Well, I for one, don't believe there's going to be 
 any trouble," observed the younger lady. 
 
 "You never can tell. Didn't the guide-book say 
 they murdered five thousand Christians not so long 
 ago in this very city?" 
 
 "And left them unburied in the streets!" Sotto 
 voce from the guide. 
 
 "Dear me!" The elder woman displayed symp- 
 toms of greater nervousness. "Come, my dear!" 
 And linking her arm quickly in that of the younger,
 
 8 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 the two fluttered away, out of the street, and out 
 of this story. Lord Fitzgerald lingered a moment, 
 as a matter of self and national respect, then fol- 
 lowed leisurely. 
 
 The dervish looked after the party and a word 
 that was not Allah fell from his lips. Fortunately 
 no one heard it.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 
 
 THE dervish soon resumed his posturing. A 
 holy man, to be consistent, can not bob his 
 body up and down too often, especially if he is in a 
 busy street where many may observe him. None of 
 the complicated formalities attendant upon the peti- 
 tions to Allah and the prophet, escaped now this past- 
 master, but it might have been noticed that while his 
 lips murmured tekbeers, he kept one eye pretty 
 closely on the people. This sedulousness, however, 
 could be accounted for on natural grounds. Re- 
 turned pilgrims are usually hungry. This one was 
 dusty and road-worn; his shoes were falling from 
 his feet. He might be looking for a benefactor. 
 But though his plight was apparent, the crowd 
 seemed too busy for benevolence. 
 
 From the pastry-shop, however, a man now came 
 and stood at the door with a cake. 
 
 9
 
 io ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Thank the lady ! Thank the most gracious lady 
 who takes pity on your poverty !" said this person. 
 
 "I do. I, most unworthy, humbly return thanks," 
 answered the dervish eagerly, whereupon the man 
 threw the cake. Unfortunately one of the many 
 waiting dogs got it. Pandemonium ensued as street 
 boys with sticks and stones set upon the congre- 
 gated canines. Howls mingled with juvenile yells. 
 Innocent dogs fared no better than the guilty pil- 
 ferer. In the midst of the hubbub she who had 
 bidden the proprietor throw the cake walked out of 
 the shop. She was slender and richly robed. Her 
 tezyereh, or street attire, was of silk, an exquisite 
 light rose, so that her coming seemed to brighten the 
 thoroughfare. Amid squalor and wretchedness 
 ragged hawkers, carriers and venders of a hundred 
 inconsequential articles she shone like a flower. 
 Her face, of course, was concealed by the snowy 
 whiteness of the burko, or face veil, but as she 
 passed, with supple swaying grace, the dervish 
 caught a glimpse of her eyes. 
 
 An instant they seemed to hold him, although 
 he was more or less of a woman-hater by profession 
 and perhaps inclination. "By the beard of the
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 11 
 
 prophet, but the lady has soulful eyes !" he muttered 
 in choicest Arabic. Then a scoffing light came into 
 his own. "No doubt, too, she knows it," he added, 
 and began again more resolutely to pray. But he 
 was suffered to continue his praiseworthy vocation 
 for only a few moments. He, ragged waif of the 
 roads, was occupying space demanded by others of 
 the high and opulent class. 
 
 "Way there! Way there!" peremptory voices 
 called out, and two superb camels, of lordly height, 
 bearing a spacious litter between them, came along. 
 At a command the beasts, bedecked with bright trap- 
 pings, knelt while an attendant in fine livery and of 
 autocratic bearing, denoting the importance of those 
 he served, opened the door of the litter. The lady, 
 who had attracted the dervish's attention, was about 
 to get in, when one of the camels, annoyed by the 
 snapping of a miserable little yellow dog, made an 
 angry movement and started to rise. 
 
 The litter swayed ; the lady with a foot on the step 
 was thrown backward and would have been hurled 
 to the ground, but at that moment the dervish sprang 
 forward and caught her. His arms, which had been 
 extended empty-handed toward Mecca, now clasped
 
 12 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 a fair sample, or example, of despised femininity. 
 Nay, more a warm breath fanned his cheek, while 
 those eyes that had forced his attention a few mo- 
 ments before now met his own fully, albeit in star- 
 tled fashion, affording him abundant opportunity to 
 fortify or amend that first impression of them. 
 They were more than "soulful"; they were big, 
 luminous, haughty, passionate, poetic. One roman- 
 tically inclined would have searched for a few more 
 adjectives to encompass their attraction. They could 
 talk and tell all manner of things. Allah (Blessed 
 be whose Name) gave them license to practise magic 
 or diablerie; to disturb saints, or sinners; to teach 
 cynical young dervishes, accustomed to solitary 
 dances, that solo whirls are but lonesome business on 
 life's barren sands. 
 
 For a moment, which takes somewhat long in 
 the telling, they beggar and beautiful lady, brought 
 thus together by bizarre fate made an interesting 
 if unconventional picture on that ancient street of 
 strange contrasts. Possibly he prolonged the situa- 
 tion longer than the sterner exigencies to be merely 
 helpful! demanded, while a light that was not 
 wholly holy or strictly pious began to shine from his
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 13 
 
 somewhat cynical young gaze. And well it had ex- 
 cuse for so doing, for the lady's eyes alone were not 
 all this fortunate anchorite of the desert was per- 
 mitted to contemplate ! Her veil had been partially 
 swept aside, thus affording an unexpected and most 
 illumining glimpse of a countenance, young, oval, 
 perfect. It dazzled the gaze accustomed to unpre- 
 possessing pilgrims' faces and bleak prospects. 
 
 The dervish forgot his prophet ; his lips on a sud- 
 den awoke to a different kind of litany. The odan 
 he dared utter now sounded from the minaret of his 
 own daring presumptuousness : 
 
 "By the faith, but Damascus holds at least one 
 pearl of wondrous beauty !" 
 
 A vivid pink splashed the girl's face. Fortunately 
 no one, save she, had caught the too free compliment 
 of this bold young mueddin. The street was, and 
 always is, very noisy daytimes. 
 
 "How dare you?" 
 
 He only laughed for answer. Roses where had 
 been lilies! The old Persian poets would have lik- 
 ened now the lady's face to a new garden of enchant- 
 ment. 
 
 The din around them increased.
 
 14 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Ho! Demon of a camel!" some one now was 
 yelling. 
 
 "Back, dog!" This time it was the dervish him- 
 self who was addressed by one of her attendants. 
 
 "The dog apologizes to you, lady, for his bold- 
 ness," he said in quick mocking tones, and released 
 her. 
 
 "No, no !" She turned to the attendant who had 
 raised a staff to strike the dervish. 
 
 The latter's eyes expressed now a sardonic amuse- 
 ment as they rested on the servant; there was also 
 in their depths a dangerous glitter. The man stood 
 uncertainly. 
 
 "He saved me from a bad fall," she added hastily, 
 whereupon the pole was lowered and the lady van- 
 ished into the litter. A curtain fell and the camels 
 with their delicate patrician burden swayed imperi- 
 ously down the Street that is called Straight. The 
 dervish gazed after them, then wheeled rather 
 abruptly to the proprietor of the pastry-shop. 
 
 "Who is she?" he demanded. 
 
 The proprietor heard him amazed. This ragged 
 fellow presumed greatly, because he had performed
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 15 
 
 a trifling service. And he, a holy man, in a city 
 where it is not considered good etiquette even to 
 look at one of the fair sex on the street! This bold 
 dervish had dared to do that before the little incident 
 of the litter and now the impudent rascal inquired 
 brazenly about hen 
 
 "Who is she? Out upon you!" exclaimed the 
 pastry-man indignantly. "Away from my shop, 
 rank pretender of holiness!" 
 
 "Pretender !" For a moment the other, as if a little 
 startled, confronted the shopkeeper, then as people 
 were beginning to gather, he seemed to think better 
 of the impulse to answer angrily and moved on. 
 
 "That's what a great lady gets for being char- 
 itable," grumbled the proprietor to his assistant, as 
 he reentered his kitchen. "Impudence !" 
 
 "Wasn't that the beautiful stepdaughter of ?" 
 the assistant murmured insinuatingly a name. 
 
 The cake-man looked around. In the quiet of his 
 own bake-place, despite his indignation against the 
 holy man, he was, himself, not altogether averse to 
 gossiping about women. Very discreetly, of course ! 
 Pouring frosting and patting sugar seemed a natural
 
 16 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 accompaniment to delicate prittle prattle about 
 dainty femininity in the higher social walks of life. 
 He nodded now assentingly. 
 
 "The one that ?" went on the assistant. 
 
 "Yes ; May and December, I call them." 
 
 "Good !" Adjusting a plum on a succulent back- 
 ground. 
 
 "A dove, I have heard." 
 
 "You mean a young tigress. They say " He 
 whispered. 
 
 "No?" Listening with delight. 
 
 "Yes; one of the servants told a servant of " 
 
 "The stepmother will be put out. She was here 
 yesterday." 
 
 "She? Ugh!" 
 
 Then they put the sweet things in to bake. They 
 had discussed what promised to be a choice scandal 
 for the patrons of sweetmeats. In the inner rooms 
 of the many shops of this kind, women would soon 
 be mouthing it with the other delectable things. 
 
 Outside the stream of life flowed on. The der- 
 vish was now a part of it. At first he had moved 
 mechanically, but before long he straightened and 
 squared his shoulders. Judging from the quick
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 17 
 
 glances he cast around him, his mind had again be- 
 come focused on the ever-changing details of his 
 immediate environment. 
 
 Within doors at this hour every one seemed to be 
 eating. The merchant in his shop sat cross-legged, 
 plate on knee. Glimpses into back rooms afforded 
 views of groups convivially busy at the festive 
 board. In many booths, layers of mutton, inter- 
 larded with the fat of the tail, turned on spits. 
 Appetizing odors floated in and out of doorways, 
 as if to tantalize the senses of half-starved holy men. 
 Small boys and girls glided hither and thither with 
 steaming bowls of boiled beans. The perambulat- 
 ing donkeys, laden with cocoanuts, fruit and other 
 edibles, paused that the people might buy. 
 
 "Oh, consoler of the embarrassed, have a sweet- 
 meat." 
 
 "Honey! Oh, oranges! Relieve me of them." 
 
 "How sweet the little vegetable from near the 
 river! Aid in partaking of it." The drivers' voices 
 arose in stentorian invitations, which were not invi- 
 tations to the penniless. 
 
 Now forcing his way between these individuals, 
 the dervish became abruptly conscious that some
 
 i8 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 one, near at hand, was following and watching him. 
 He half turned and his eyes met, for the fraction of 
 a minute, the deep, clear devilishly clear ones of 
 a thick-set, fanatical-looking Mohammedan; then 
 with a quick contemptuous swing of his cloak of 
 rags, the dervish plunged into the crowd. The other, 
 about to follow more quickly, found himself touched 
 on the arm and restrained. 
 
 "The saddle for my master's horse is it fin- 
 ished?" said he who stopped him. 
 
 "Yes ; I will be at my shop in a moment. Await 
 me there." He would have broken impatiently 
 away, when 
 
 "Why not come now ?" said the man. 
 
 And Sadi, the saddler, had to acquiesce, for he 
 who addressed him was servant to Amad, the dia- 
 mond merchant, the richest man in Damascus, and, 
 moreover, a distant relative of Sadi, himself. 
 
 "My master trusts the saddle is worthy of the 
 Star of the Desert." 
 
 "It is worthy," said the saddlemaker, his ma- 
 licious eyes turned in the direction the dervish had 
 gone.
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 19 
 
 "You seemed in a hurry," remarked the servant 
 curiously. 
 
 "Some one I wished to speak with. I saw him in 
 the crowd," muttered the other. 
 
 "A friend, eh?" 
 
 "Yes a friend." With a curious laugh. "I 
 made his acquaintance at Mecca. But perhaps we'll 
 meet again. Anyhow, it doesn't matter," he had to 
 add politely, though inwardly anathematizing his 
 rich relative and most lucrative customer. 
 
 Meanwhile the dervish had turned into a narrow- 
 er way and one that didn't make even so much as a 
 pretext of being straight as the one that is called so. 
 Faster he moved, soon turning again, choosing now 
 the most crooked and tortuous byways. It may be 
 he selected this route designedly, though a person 
 would have to possess an intimate knowledge of the 
 locality not to go wrong in that maze, or it may be 
 only blind chance led him ; at any rate, before long, 
 he brought up in front of an entrance that he re- 
 garded not without certain evidence of satisfaction. 
 After glancing through the opening, as if to make 
 sure what lay before him, and then casting a quick
 
 so ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 look over his shoulder down the way he had come, 
 he stooped, unfastened his dilapidated shoes, and 
 depositing them at the door, strode boldly forward 
 into the large court of a superb mosque. 
 
 Here reigned peace and silence. Near the door a 
 professional letter-writer dozed over his desk. He 
 raised a tired lid ; his deep-set old eyes were full of 
 retrospection. Phrases to the moon, set similes 
 about the pomegranate were apt to become cold 
 through disuse in the ancient chambers of his brain. 
 His eyelid again drooped like a weary moth. Ah, 
 in the old times the good times the merry times 
 then a letter-writer had plenty to do. 
 
 The dervish passed on. Now he glided across the 
 smooth shining pavement, which felt cool and grate- 
 ful to his travel-worn feet, while doves, of which 
 there were myriads, made way for him. The whir 
 of their wings alone disturbed the stillness. Athwart 
 the white slabs of the court the shadow of a minaret 
 lay like a finger admonishing people to holiness. It 
 seemed to bid them enter the enclosed House of 
 Allah, where were soft rugs and praying niches. 
 
 But yonder were shady recesses, which had an 
 especial attraction of their own, too, and one of
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 21 
 
 these the most isolated wooed the dervish. There, 
 beneath spreading branches, gleamed a small pool, 
 bathing place for pilgrims. After the interminable 
 dusty roads, over mountain and desert, the sight of 
 the cool water that gushed abundantly forth was 
 most welcome. But before deciding to throw off 
 his cloak and enjoy the luxury of a bath, he once 
 more gazed carefully around him. He was alone; 
 no prying eyes were bent upon him; at one end of 
 the fountain a small space was screened in and there 
 he would be even more secluded. He walked toward 
 it ; now his limbs, a lighter hue than the mahogany 
 of his face, gleamed white in the reflections of the 
 limpid surface. He laved himself quickly from head 
 to foot, then drawing his capacious cloak once more 
 around him, he lay down. 
 
 Heigho! If one could only sleep away hunger! 
 Still his bath had refreshed him, and since it was im- 
 possible to eat, perhaps he might court a few winks 
 of forget fulness. But his appetite (the appetite of 
 youth) followed in his dreams. The aggravating 
 flesh-pots mingled with wild hostile faces. He saw 
 again the fat sheep sacrificed and left uneaten in the 
 holiest city. Prodigal waste of good chops and
 
 22 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 juicy saddles of mutton ! Oh, for a nice chop now 
 ' such as you get at Sharpe's on Forty- fourth Street, 
 near Broadway a chop, two or more inches thick, 
 lashed with French fried and a tankard of old 
 musty conveniently near 
 
 "Old musty?" What had he to do with that, he 
 who was supposed never to partake of aught alco- 
 holic ? And Sharpe's ? What was Sharpe's to him, 
 a good Mohammedan, and very holy man, to boot? 
 By the sacred eyebrow of the prophet, who had him- 
 self once fasted three days in a cave, but those were 
 chops which were chops ! 
 
 Eh? What now? Voices? Trouble? Perhaps 
 some one had playfully tossed a tankard at a waiter 
 and there was a joyful little mix-up, a brief misun- 
 derstanding But this was not Sharpe's, though 
 there was a voice, and a loud one. The dervish sat 
 up; night had fallen. Beyond the wall on one side, 
 he knew were the tombs. Not likely the voice came 
 from there ! On the other side, however, the pala- 
 tial quarters of the wealthy and aristocratic class 
 basked in the immediate and beneficent proximity of 
 the mosque. The dervish looked in the direction of 
 the houses. As Damascus is the wealthiest as well
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 23 
 
 as the oldest city, it boasted, he was aware, of a so- 
 cial set, exclusive and princely. .Were Aladdin to 
 rub his lamp and be set down in one of yonder man- 
 sions, that fortunate poor young man would find 
 himself amid a scene of fairy-like luxuriousness. 
 And were that same poor young man permitted, in 
 these prosiac and less magical days, to look around 
 upon forbidden scenes, he might find there the prin- 
 cess of his dreams. 
 
 The dervish listened. His gaze directed itself 
 specifically toward the upper stories, as much as he 
 could see of one of the fairly well-lighted mansions 
 the tallest just outside the wall. From this 
 stately edifice came the disturbing tones, a man's, 
 vibrating, quivering with anger. The surroundings 
 were ancient; the setting was that of medieval ro- 
 mance, but the words had a familiar and up-to-date 
 ring: 
 
 "I divorce you !" 
 
 "Oh, ho!" The modern Aladdin smiled disap- 
 pointedly. "Nothing more interesting than a little 
 domestic squabble!" 
 
 "I divorce you !" 
 
 A second time the words rang out. "Look out,
 
 24 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY, 
 
 my friend," murmured the listener to himself. 
 "Three times and out, here, you know, by your out- 
 landish laws. Better wait until you're not so angry. 
 Try a water-pipe first, with a soothing dash of hash- 
 ish. Always try a water-pipe, before proceeding to 
 extremities, unless you would live to regret " 
 
 "I divorce you !" 
 
 The dervish yawned. "Well, now you've done it. 
 You certainly have !" 
 
 A woman's voice, musical as silver bells, laughed 
 mockingly. Whence came it; from the sky, the 
 shining heavens a chamber of yonder palace? 
 
 "You have all heard?" The man seemed fairly 
 beside himself. "By Allah's will, I have set this 
 witch from me. Her beauty hath made me mad " 
 
 Again that laughter ! 
 
 "You hear? She defies me. Now by Allah's will 
 it is done. She must go. I will have no more of 
 her." 
 
 Silence! From the big house came no further 
 sound. 
 
 "A legal divorce, that, all right," the dervish mut- 
 tered. 
 
 Then he yawned again such comedies, or trage-
 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 25 
 
 dies, are very common and stretched his lithe fig- 
 ure once more. Life was, indeed, sordid without 
 romance. He looked up at the stars. Strangely 
 enough they seemed now to frame a girl's face 
 that of the lady of the pastry-shop. He dismissed 
 it and laughed ironically. What had he to do with 
 star dreamings? Had he not outlived them? 
 Broken vows, masculine anger, feminine recrimina- 
 tions, partings those were the realities the world 
 over, whether in New York or Damascus. 
 
 "Were they, indeed?" The stars seemed now to 
 laugh at him. One, like a great pink warm-hued 
 diamond pulsated shamelessly. He turned his back 
 on it and drew his cloak closer. How strong the 
 scent of the flowers! Whence came it from what 
 garden? He stirred restlessly, then slept again. 
 His next awakening was more startling.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AN ASTONISHING PROPOSITION 
 
 SOME one touched him. Instantly weariness 
 left him and he sprang to his feet, every muscle 
 tense. Confronting him were two shadows, omi- 
 nously near in the dim light. At the dervish's invol- 
 untary menacing attitude one of the intruders drew 
 slightly back. A faint glow, like quivering diamond 
 dust, revealed the immediate surroundings. 
 
 "What do you want ?" Beneath his cloak the der- 
 vish's fingers gripped something that was neither 
 Koran nor string of beads. 
 
 "To speak with you," answered the foremost of 
 the intruders, a little uneasily. As he spoke he 
 glanced back at his companion. 
 
 "About what?" demanded the dervish. 
 
 "That you will learn later, if you will be good 
 enough to follow us." 
 
 "I shall learn now, before following." Grimly. 
 26
 
 AN ASTONISHING PROPOSITION 27 
 
 "But this this is no place." The man's tones, 
 though uncertain, as if he, too, had some doubts as 
 to the wisdom and propriety of his purpose, were 
 courteous enough. "In Allah's name, hesitate no 
 longer, but come." 
 
 "I am very comfortable where I am." Quietly. 
 
 "What do you fear?" 
 
 "I don't fear. Only I am too sleepy to stir. 
 Besides, why should I accompany those whom I 
 do not know ?" 
 
 "We are honorable men, come as your bene- 
 factors." 
 
 "Do benefactors fall from the sky? And at this 
 hour?" Significantly. 
 
 "Deign to follow us, and find out and for to- 
 night and some days condescend to become our hon- 
 ored guest." 
 
 "Guest?" Had he heard aright? The dervish 
 laughed derisively. "What trap is this?" 
 
 "It is no trap. You will be well fed, finely 
 clothed and given a fat purse into the bargain." 
 
 "You but seek to make merry at my expense." 
 Wearily. 
 
 "Words of truth alone fall from our lips. We
 
 28 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 were sent hither to find you." 
 
 The dervish started slightly. "To find me?" 
 
 "Perhaps I should have said, you or any other 
 ragged holy man," answered the visitor with a smile. 
 "Another would have done as well, and he were 
 that." 
 
 "Is it so ? Your words do not comport with your 
 errand." Bluntly. 
 
 "Why, what can you know of our errand yet?" 
 In surprise. 
 
 "You were sent by a certain saddler, a very dis- 
 reputable lying fellow." The dervish's eyes gleamed 
 challengingly. 
 
 "A saddler? We know nothing of any saddler. 
 At least, not in this matter." 
 
 The speaker's tones were earnest and calculated to 
 carry conviction. The dervish regarded him more 
 closely. 
 
 "Deign to do as we ask," the man went on eager- 
 ly, "and I promise you will be well treated." 
 
 "Who are you? Harun-al-Raschid and his grand 
 vizier come to tempt a poor holy man with the 
 riches and luxuries of the world?" the dervish now 
 demanded lightly.
 
 AN ASTONISHING PROPOSITION 29 
 
 "We can claim no such distinction." As the fore- 
 most of the visitors spoke he exchanged meaning 
 glances with his companion. 
 
 "Most dervishes . . . half-witted," murmured 
 the latter. 
 
 "All the better ... for our purpose." Sotto 
 voce from the other. Then to the dervish: "We 
 are but plain citizens of Damascus. Harun-al- 
 Raschid," indulgently, "died many centuries ago. 
 But tell me," abruptly, "are you hungry?" 
 
 "Am I?" In spite of himself the dervish's voice 
 was eager. "Why?" 
 
 "Because I know of a little cafe near, which has 
 a cook worthy of a place at the prophet's right hand ; 
 where may be had kaivurmeh such a stew ! cabob 
 roasted on skewers; fish dressed with oil; a boned 
 fowl stuffed with pistachio nuts " 
 
 "Truly it is the caliph of Bagdad," muttered the 
 dervish. "Or a geni, come in human form to tor- 
 ment me." 
 
 The other may have divined that famished glint 
 in the holy one's eyes for he went on more unctu- 
 ously, rolling his words as if he were rolling over 
 delicacies jn his mouth ;
 
 30 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Kunafeh, sweetened with sugar or honey He 
 is very famous for his pastry. It melts on the lips 
 when one has only a small appetite. When one has 
 a large one " He drew in his breath and fin- 
 ished his sentence by rolling his eyes. "Then when 
 you have dined to repletion, there is the sun-ripened 
 watermelon, and a certain sweet drink this wonder- 
 ful cook is renowned for " 
 
 "I think," interrupted the dervish rather hastily, 
 "you have sufficiently enumerated the accomplish- 
 ments of this very interesting man. And I agree 
 with you he is worthy of a seat at the prophet's right 
 hand. But alas, for me are these delicacies forbid- 
 den unattainable, at present, as the delights of 
 Paradise, itself!" 
 
 "Not if you go with us." Promptly. 
 
 "But the price?" 
 
 "We pay." 
 
 "You pay him. How do I pay you?" 
 
 "Oh, that is a small matter. We'll talk about it 
 over the good things to eat." 
 
 "I'd rather talk about it before I eat them." 
 
 "Here's a very honest fellow, indeed !" And one 
 of the intruders nodded approval to his companion.
 
 AN ASTONISHING PROPOSITION 31 
 
 "Truly, we are lucky to have found him !" assent- 
 ed the other. 
 
 "Or some one else is lucky." 
 
 "Some one else, of course!" 
 
 The dervish waited. "There is a slight service a 
 very slight one you can perform in return for all 
 we are going to do for you," said the spokesman 
 softly. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Get married." 
 
 "Eh? What?" 
 
 "Get married. That is all." 
 
 "All ! What manner of jest is this ?" 
 
 "It is no jest. You are to get married and yet 
 not get married." 
 
 "How can a man get married and yet not get 
 married ?" 
 
 "It is very simple. You marry and then you un- 
 marry. You have only to say 'I divorce you' three 
 times in the presence of witnesses." 
 
 "Divorce made easy!" Ironically. 
 
 "It is the law." 
 
 "The Mohammedan law yes." 
 
 "What know we of any other?" In surprise.
 
 32 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "True." Hastily. "But why am I to get mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 "To meet a little exigency." 
 
 "Oh!" The dervish studied more closely his vis- 
 itor. He was a portly man, a well-to-do shopkeeper, 
 no doubt And his companion resembled him as one 
 pea is like unto another. "When am I to get mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 "The prophet forbid!" 
 
 "It can be arranged." 
 
 "Whom am I going to marry?" 
 
 "A lady of quality." 
 
 "Old?" 
 
 "Young." 
 
 "Beautiful?" 
 
 "As an houri!" This time it was a duet; both 
 visitors spoke at the same moment and their voices 
 were as one. 
 
 The dervish frowned. "An houri! You might, 
 at least, have made her ugly." 
 
 They noticed this evidence of displeasure on his 
 part, not altogether with disapproval. Obviously 
 this dervish was so holy that the younger and more
 
 AN ASTONISHING PROPOSITION 33 
 
 attractive a woman was, the more he disliked the 
 thought of her. "Allah has, indeed, guided us to the 
 right one," murmured the spokesman. And then to 
 the dervish : "What matters it to you if she is beau- 
 tiful? The marriage is only one of form. She will 
 not molest you." 
 
 "You are sure?" 
 
 "Positive." 
 
 "But why is this marriage necessary?" 
 
 "I will explain. We have the honor to serve Amad 
 Ahl-Masr, the affluent jeweler and merchant whose 
 palace overlooks this place." 
 
 "Not the tall one ?" The dervish showed interest. 
 
 "The tallest, of course. Now, a short time past, 
 my friend, benefactor and patron, Amad " 
 
 "Our friend, benefactor and patron!" breathed 
 his companion. 
 
 " took unto himself the fairest of her sex. Such 
 a gala occasion! There were almas and singers 
 and entertainments without number. Never did a 
 wedding open more auspiciously, or end more disas- 
 trously. For, though devoted to her lord, the lady 
 was young, and " 
 
 "They clashed," said the dervish with a yawn.
 
 34 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Unfortunately, she being both young and inno- 
 cent to-day thoughtlessly said, did or thought some- 
 thing that disturbed the beneficent temper of our 
 illustrious patron. Then, in an inadvertent moment, 
 he summoned witnesses and thrice, in a solemn 
 manner, declared the triple divorce, which is a 
 divorce, indeed." 
 
 " 'Solemn manner' ?" The dervish's tone ex- 
 pressed amusement. "And you said his house was 
 the tall one? But proceed. He declared thrice be- 
 fore witnesses 'I divorce you'. That constitutes, 
 without doubt, a legal separation. According to the 
 law of the prophet whose will," bowing ceremon- 
 iously, "is that of Allah, the lady is no longer mar- 
 ried to your friend, the rich diamond merchant. 
 How did she relish this new-found freedom that was 
 so unceremoniously thrust upon her?" 
 
 "She wept copiously." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "As if her heart would break." With a mournful 
 shake of the head. 
 
 "Indeed?" Dryly. "That, no doubt, accounts 
 for the sound of wailing wafted even here." 
 
 They looked at him suspiciously. "She wept after 
 she realized fully what she had done."
 
 35 
 
 "Oh, after?" murmured the dervish. "Well, why 
 not? First scornful laughter, then tears!" He 
 waved his hand airily. "Go on." 
 
 "At the spectacle of her grief, the tender heart of 
 the merchant melted almost at once, and he re- 
 gretted what he had done. He magnanimously for- 
 gave her as she knelt imploringly at his feet. He 
 would even have restored her to her old place and 
 position, but alas! There were and are difficulties. 
 The lady, as a divorcee has been obliged, according 
 to the law, to return to her own home, and thence 
 he may not bring her, until Well, you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Quite! She must marry again and be divorced 
 from husband number two, before the law of the 
 prophet permits husband number one that was, 
 through remarriage, again to claim her. All of 
 which is set forth in the Koran, chapter two, verse 
 two hundred and twenty-six." 
 
 "Exactly!" They nodded their approval of a 
 dervish so learned in the Book he knew even the 
 numbers of the sacred verses. 
 
 "That much I learned at El-Azhar, and much be- 
 side," said the dervish. "Also, that when a husband 
 regrets having divorced his wife, he has been
 
 36 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 known,** shrewdly, "to look around for some pil- 
 grim or poor man, who is called a mustahall or hus- 
 band of convenience." 
 
 "That is it. You just say you take her, but you 
 don't. It must, of course, be legally done, though 
 the formalities are brief for a divorcee. As a matter 
 of fact, we take charge of you after the ceremony." 
 
 "No doubt of that !" From the second man. 
 
 "You won't even have to see the bride after you're 
 married to her. Then when a day or two of quiet, 
 rest and meditation have gone by, you earn your new 
 clothes and a fat purse by divorcing before a few 
 witnesses, the lady, and thereupon depart, the richer 
 and the happier, leaving her free to remarry Amad, 
 the diamond merchant. What could be better?" 
 Rubbing his fat hands. 
 
 "What, indeed? You put it convincingly. An 
 ideal way to get married! There wouldn't be any 
 unhappy marriages if all people got married like 
 that." 
 
 "Of course not" This holy man, like many 
 welees or those "favored of heaven," was certainly 
 rather weak in his wits. His smile now was child- 
 like and bland. The emissaries of the rich diamond
 
 AN ASTONISHING PROPOSITION 37 
 
 merchant, however, humored him by being patient. 
 
 "How old did you say the lady was ?" 
 
 "Seventeen." 
 
 "And divorced already! Why, before she's for- 
 ty " The dervish shook his head mournfully. 
 "But my predecessor I mean, my successor-to-be 
 how has time, the enemy, treated him?" 
 
 "He has passed the line when, according to the 
 prophet, a man becomes a man, indeed." 
 
 "This marriage to me would make her this 
 rather volatile young lady very happy?" 
 
 "It would." 
 
 "I should be a great benefactor, then?" With 
 mocking gaiety. 
 
 "No doubt." 
 
 "Both parties would bless me ?" Expansively. 
 
 "They would." 
 
 "Then why should I hesitate?" 
 
 "You don't." Persuasively. 
 
 The dervish made no answer. Could they have 
 read what lay behind the inscrutable expression of 
 the face half turned from them now, they would 
 have been startled. More was involved in his de- 
 cision than they knew. To become the bridegroom
 
 38 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 of blushing seventeen and then to dissolve the tie 
 that would not be difficult. He would be participat- 
 ing in a mere formality, lending himself to a com- 
 monplace transaction, frequently employed among 
 Mohammedans when husbands who lost their tem- 
 pers desired back that which in a moment of anger 
 they had set from them. But the possibilities of 
 other complications, more serious ones ? Were they 
 offset by certain advantages? His present needs 
 were urgent. To get out of Damascus he needed a 
 purse. It was a queer way to make money, yet an 
 honest enough one, if people would quarrel and get 
 divorced and then be foolish enough to want to re- 
 turn to a state of perpetual infelicity. Sweet seven- 
 teen! That was about the age of the lady of the 
 pastry-shop. The satirical look faded for a moment 
 from the bold eyes, but immediately returned. His 
 gallantry had nearly cost him a good beating. What 
 a fool to have risked it ! A cudgeling for a woman ! 
 He laughed softly, derisively. 
 
 "You have decided?" inquired the portly man 
 curiously. 
 
 "To the cafe !" was the answer. "Eat, drink and 
 be merry, for to-morrow we get married !"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 
 
 THE dervish was married next day, at high 
 noon, or somewhere between five and six 
 o'clock, oriental time. As El Sabbagh, the dyer 
 the dervish's portly friend of the night before 
 had pointed out, marriages in the case of a widow, 
 or a divorcee, are conducted with comparatively lit- 
 tle ostentation. A number of details of the spousal 
 ceremonies of a young girl, unmarried before, are, 
 on the second, or third, occasion, omitted. The 
 guests do not expect to be regaled by sprightly en- 
 tertainments by dancing girls, or female singers. 
 No torch-bearers march with the groom, and no 
 elaborate repasts, or mudnat, are served. But 
 even so, the ceremony is far from simple, from an 
 occidental standpoint. 
 
 The dyer, bearing a bundle which proved to con- 
 tain a new suit of clothes, took the dervish early in 
 hand on the day of the wedding. 
 
 39
 
 40 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "You can put these on/' he said, indicating the 
 garments, "while I go and see Light of Life, to 
 arrange about the dowry." 
 
 "Light of Life?" The dervish stretched himself 
 more comfortably on the cushions of the divan in 
 the dyer's house where he was temporarily domi- 
 ciled. "Who is she? Some prospective relative of 
 mine?" 
 
 "Your mother-in-law. A charming woman, 
 though," dubiously, "a rather close hand at a bar- 
 gain." 
 
 "You mean 7 have to give a dowry?" Reaching 
 for a cup of coffee. 
 
 "Well, Amad has to give it for you." 
 "Very kind of him ! First he gives me his wife, 
 and then a dowry to go with her." 
 
 "It was at Light of Life's suggestion." Lugu- 
 briously. 
 
 "And she dominates the situation?" With a 
 laugh. "I begin to admire my mother-in-law im- 
 mensely." The dyer gave him a curious look. "By 
 the way, what did you say the name of my wife-to- 
 be is?" 
 "Fatma."
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 41 
 
 "Good ! I will try to remember. But this Amad ? 
 this dear good Amad, my benefactor after I 
 have divorced Fatma, and he remarries her, will 
 he have to give her a third dowry?" 
 
 "That is as Allah wills!" Resignedly. 
 
 "Or Light of Life!" Gaily. 
 
 The dyer shrugged. "I'll leave you now to array 
 yourself. Never had a substitute bridegroom before 
 such garments, all embroidered and fine silk. Be 
 ready when I return. The servant will bring water 
 for the religious ablutions. How long does it take 
 you to say your prayers?" 
 
 "About three hours." 
 
 "Can you not say thirty minutes?" In dismay. 
 
 "And so omit some thirty rekahs? On your con- 
 science be it!" 
 
 But left to himself the dervish forgot to repeat 
 even a single verse. He gazed around him with a 
 quizzical uplifted brow. Dame Fortune was cer- 
 tainly a most capricious mistress. That luxurious 
 couch was in marked contrast to the flagstones he 
 had been lately accustomed to. Lighting his long 
 pipe, he inhaled and exhaled the excellent Persian 
 tobacco with a nice appreciation of its quality. His
 
 42 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 host had been as good as his word and had proved 
 most hospitable. He had even provided a carat 
 weight of ambergris to lend the coffee unusual fra- 
 grance. The dervish poured out the last of it from 
 the coffee-pot, and then set down the delicate cup 
 of brass, holding the dainty porcelain, with a sigh 
 of satisfaction. It was long since he had fared 
 so well. He felt hardly awake yet. Was it all 
 a dream? He had gone to sleep a vagabond; he 
 awoke if he were awake! in the role of an im- 
 promptu bridegroom. Rightfully he should be lying 
 now in a little court of the mosque, but four walls 
 enclosed him, while overhead a wooden ceiling re- 
 stricted the upward gaze to the consideration of a 
 somewhat confused pattern in paneling. 
 
 He clapped his hands more tobacco! A girl, 
 resembling the conventional slave girl of an illu- 
 mined eastern manuscript, answered the summons. 
 He gave his order, and "Send for a barber," he 
 said suddenly, his last command an afterthought. 
 
 When half an hour later the dyer returned, he 
 rubbed his eyes unbelievingly. He had brought home 
 the night before a disreputable-looking holy man; 
 he gazed now upon
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 43 
 
 "A gallant of gallants !" he exclaimed. His guest's 
 face was clean shaven. Attired in his new garments, 
 he looked like a well-born and distinguished young 
 sheik of the desert. The dyer stared where the 
 beard had been. "Did you not regret to part with 
 it?" 
 
 "Why should I? Am I hadji (pilgrim) or bride- 
 groom? Do I not wish to represent your friend 
 worthily ?" 
 
 The argument was unanswerable. Still the der- 
 vish had displayed an unexpected largeness of spirit 
 in thus dispensing with the flaming insignia of holi- 
 ness. The dyer acted as if he scarcely knew whether 
 to be pleased or not. 
 
 "Why, your own brother would not know you," 
 he said, at length. 
 
 "Wouldn't he ?" returned the dervish with a pecu- 
 liar and satisfied smile. He didn't add that to pro- 
 vide for a remote contingency, rather than to look 
 the part of the conventional bridegroom, had been 
 the real reason for this change of appearance. "Well, 
 I'm ready." 
 
 So they sallied forth, not too ostentatiously, the 
 bridegroom on an ass and the dyer astride of a
 
 44 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 sturdy little donkey, and presently drew up in front 
 of a house. A thick-lipped, ebony-hued bowwab, or 
 doorkeeper, of ferocious aspect, admitted the pair; 
 at the same time a veiled woman who had apparently 
 been waiting for them at once came forward. 
 
 "Behold the bridegroom!" said the dyer, not 
 without some complacency. "You see I have been 
 true to my promise, oh, Light of Life." 
 
 She regarded the young man hastily; her eyes, 
 in which shone suspicion, doubt and misgiving, 
 fairly bored into him. 
 
 "I supposed it was a dervish a good-for-nothing 
 you were to find," she said in a shrewish voice. 
 
 "This is such a one," replied the dyer reassur- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Yes; I am, indeed, a good-for-nothing," inter- 
 jected the dervish with his most amiable smile. 
 
 "You should have seen him last night," put in the 
 dyer hastily. "Such rags ! Of course, I had to dress 
 him up, in order that the neighbors you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Humph!" she muttered. "In my early days a 
 slave served on such occasions as this ; now because 
 there are no slaves, owing to the cursed Christians,
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 45 
 
 we must go to the highways and gather in Allah 
 knows whom." 
 
 "I trust, madam," said the dervish politely, "to 
 make your daughter a good husband." 
 
 "Well," she returned sourly, "there is no time to 
 look further. The guests will soon be here. Follow." 
 
 He obeyed. She walked in a special atmosphere 
 of venom all her own, which seemed fairly to radiate 
 from her. When she spoke of the "cursed Chris- 
 tians", her tongue was as if dagger-tipped. A 
 listener might divine that she had as much affection 
 for them as an adder for those it would strike. Dom- 
 inated by her presence, every nook and corner of the 
 silent house suggested lurking perils. It had a 
 mysterious uncanny look. The dervish glanced 
 back toward the entrance to the street. The door 
 leading out was now closed ; the big black giant of a 
 boivwab stood near by like a guardian presence sug- 
 gestive of those overgrown demons that act as outer 
 sentinels to an oriental temple. The eye of the 
 large watcher met the dervish as the latter looked 
 back with an expression that seemed to savor of 
 malicious and infernal cunning, and involuntarily 
 the young man straightened while his gaze became
 
 46 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 more keen and alert. Without hesitation, however, 
 he strode after the woman through a narrow door- 
 way. The smooth steps leading upward were slip- 
 pery and he had to be careful. Once he nearly 
 plunged forward, but the woman did not appear to 
 notice ; she glided ahead like a specter. 
 
 "Wait !" They had arrived at a small room. She 
 spoke the single word, then vanished. The dyer, 
 too, had mysteriously disappeared. The dervish, 
 left alone, looked around with a slightly strained 
 affectation of nonchalance; he tried to act as if he 
 felt at home, as if this were the most natural place 
 for him to be in. The attempt was not altogether 
 successful. How quiet how unnaturally quiet it 
 was! He strode to the threshold but to find the 
 door locked. Light of Life had turned the key on 
 the outside when leaving. He was a prisoner ? Well, 
 not exactly, perhaps. Still, he couldn't get out. 
 Had they locked him in there merely to sequester 
 him temporarily from inquisitive women servants 
 or other folk? Certainly this was strange treat- 
 ment to accord a bridegroom. The door looked solid 
 ind substantial; the sunlight, gleaming grudgingly 
 hrough a lattice, showed it to be of old-fashioned
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 47 
 
 construction. Was the place a trap ? If so, he might 
 beat his fists in vain on those walls, he was telling 
 himself, when a man's well-remembered voice, 
 somewhere without, was wafted to him. 
 
 Sadi's! he would have sworn to the saddler's 
 tones. What was he doing there, unless ? The 
 dervish listened more attentively, holding his breath. 
 Now he heard nothing. Silence which seemed 
 deeper, more ominous, ensued. The young man 
 forced a laugh. Of course that could not have been 
 Sadi out there. It was unreasonable to suppose him 
 in this house. Unreasonable! The whole proposi- 
 tion for his (the dervish's) employment, as out- 
 lined by the dyer, was logical and clear; it could 
 have veiled no complicated or ulterior motives. Still 
 an Oriental's mind is subtle and devious and he 
 moves to an end in a most roundabout fashion. 
 
 The dervish continued to stand stock-still, his head 
 slightly tilted, while around him the air seemed 
 charged with vibrating waves. He was alone and 
 yet the cognizance of another presence, close at 
 hand, suddenly smote him. At one end of the room 
 was a wooden screen separating this cell or apart- 
 ment from another room; beyond was darkness.
 
 48 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 He thought he heard a movement and caught a quick 
 indrawn breath. He knew now some one he could 
 not see was regarding him, looking him up and 
 down, studying him. He could almost feel that 
 burning gaze. It began to be most disconcerting. 
 He salaamed politely. 
 
 "Sir or Madam!" He used his most respectful 
 form of salutation, though under his cloak his hand 
 touched and closed on a hard handle. The courteous 
 words evoked no response and anger began to move 
 him. Hazards that can not be grasped are most 
 irritating. He strode nearer to the screen. As 
 much sunshine as could enter here limned his figure. 
 
 "Take a good look," he said boldly, "whoever 
 you are!" 
 
 A faint breath of perfume was wafted toward 
 him. It seemed vaguely reminiscent he did not 
 know of what. He heard another sound a sigh ? 
 and his face changed. It was no man who stood be- 
 hind that screen. He found himself not so blase 
 as to be incapable of experiencing a thrill. 
 
 "Taking a peep at your husband-to-be?" he 
 laughed. "Woman's curiosity! Well, what do you
 
 Take a good look," he said boldly, " whoever you are
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 49 
 
 think of this piece of masculine merchandise?" No 
 answer. "Fie! A wife who won't talk!" He had 
 time for no more. The key again turned in the 
 lock and Light of Life entered. 
 
 "Come," she said curtly. 
 
 He went. In the larger apartment to which he 
 was conducted, there were a number of people and 
 he gazed at them sharply, but to his relief Sadi, the 
 saddler, was not among the gathering. The dervish 
 had then only fancied he had heard that familiar 
 voice. And obviously there was going to be a wed- 
 ding his own ! His momentary suspicions, though 
 natural, had wronged his good friend, the dyer. 
 More blithely the dervish now held himself. 
 
 His bride wasn't there. She never is, for Mo- 
 hammedan weddings are conducted without her. 
 She is indispensable and yet dispensable. She is 
 present only in spirit; a wekeel, or go-between, an- 
 swers for her. A substitute voice does the consent- 
 ing. The guests are spared the bride's blushes, as 
 the wekeel is usually too old and hardened to supply 
 the substitute ones. The present ceremony ,was 
 very properly conducted. Although the groom had
 
 50 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 never looked upon the face of his bride and presum- 
 ably never would, he was married fast and tight. 
 He couldn't have been married tighter. 
 
 The go-between had announced: "I betroth to 
 thee," etc., and he had answered (he was allowed 
 to answer in his own voice) : "I accept from thee," 
 etc. He had answered very well, with just the right 
 degree of ardency not enough to have been con- 
 sidered decorous. Then some one murmured : "Now 
 may the blessing " and the trick was done. Those 
 present continued to chant verses from the Koran. 
 They were doing their best to make the occasion 
 seem a holy one. They were straining every nerve 
 to give it a verisimilitude of solemnity. Their ear- 
 nestness was really touching. They called down 
 kindly encomiums and shouted up loud petitions in 
 the bridegroom's behalf. They pictured for him a 
 garden of bliss. He strove not to appear too elated. 
 The spectacle of the dyer slipping out after the cere- 
 mony to repair to the palace of Amad, no doubt, 
 and to report progress! was calculated to prevent 
 the bridegroom's being too overwhelmed by a sense 
 of his own good fortune and felicity. Amad was 
 really the one to be congratulated not he, the pres-
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 51 
 
 ent ephemeral bridegroom. For him, Fatma would 
 be but a name like those other Fatmas in the story 
 books. 
 
 Even while marrying her his thoughts had per- 
 versely leaped to another. When he said, "I take 
 thee, Fatma," it was not Fatma, at all, whom he 
 "took". At this psychological moment, by some 
 freak of fancy, the image of the lady of the pastry- 
 shop had recurred to him. It was very reprehensible, 
 but he had thought of her that other whom he 
 had caught to his breast, into whose eyes he had 
 gazed and who had then passed on. Whither? As 
 if he cared! For him, deep dark eyes were only 
 deep dark eyes, and he could contemplate them im- 
 personally as an artist might, Allah be praised! A 
 "burnt child," etc. He had had his lesson. Who 
 she was whether maid or matron mattered not. 
 She had come and gone. She had gazed at him with 
 big luminous eyes he wouldn't deny they were very 
 beautiful eyes and the time had been when he 
 might, perhaps, have fallen madly in love with them 
 or her. But that time was past. Exit camels! 
 Exit lady ! 
 
 From these frivolous considerations of the past,
 
 52 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 he was somewhat rudely recalled to the present and 
 to his immediate surroundings. His eyes, cynically 
 introspective, had rested, at first casually, then with 
 swift intentness, on a newcomer, a late-comer 
 Sadi, the saddler! Yes, that person stood there, in 
 the flesh, before him. He was no myth. He had 
 stepped in when the ceremony was about over and 
 was now one of the guests. Probably he had been 
 at the house earlier, had gone away for some reason 
 or other and returned. The dervish waited for him 
 to speak, as one waits for the inevitable; it was a 
 tense moment. But the other continued to stand 
 grim, silent and motionless. 
 
 Some one, however, unconscious of the irony of 
 the act, now drew the saddler forward and intro- 
 duced him to the bridegroom. 
 
 "Distant relative of Amad," said the person who 
 did the introducing. 
 
 "Distant relative, did you say?" The young man 
 smiled. So Sadi was there as a relative; his pres- 
 ence portended nothing else nothing more alarm- 
 ing, or ominous? He did not know who he, the 
 bridegroom, was ; he had not recognized him. The 
 dyer's words about his "own brother" not knowing
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 53 
 
 him recurred reassuringly to the bridegroom. The 
 two men saluted as only those of the same faith greet 
 each other. 
 
 "Teiybeen!" muttered Sadi. 
 
 "Allah bless thee," said the dervish fervently. 
 
 That was all. But once or twice the bridegroom 
 felt the other's gaze and divined in it an expression 
 in the least puzzled. The ordeal, however, was for- 
 tunately coming to a close. The paid wekeel now 
 began to sing the customary praises of the bride : 
 
 "She is graceful as a gazelle." 
 
 "You set my heart on fire," the bridegroom had 
 to answer. 
 
 "Her lips are as sherbet of sugar." 
 
 He made an appropriate reply. 
 
 "And what a handsome bridegroom !" said one of 
 the ladies present, with a little giggle. 
 
 "Can you blame my daughter for falling in love 
 with him?" 
 
 Light of Life actually said that. The bridegroom 
 bowed an acknowledgment and, in spite of the thrill 
 of the moment, he had to laugh. What a woman ! 
 And how ugly must be the face concealed by that 
 veil! Around him the other women moved like
 
 54 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 black shadows. All the guests were now talking 
 vivaciously all except Sadi, who said no word and 
 whose ill-omened countenance had become set and 
 immovable. The wekeel finished her task. The 
 bridegroom had to go now or to be taken away, to 
 a mosque, to pray to become holy enough to see, for 
 the first time, one whom he wasn't going to see 
 at all. 
 
 Bidding ceremonious farewell to his new mother- 
 in-law, Light of Life, he left the house with four 
 male relatives whether of the bride or Amad, he 
 knew not. The saddler, however, was not of them. 
 The last the young man saw of that person he was 
 gazing after him with bent brows, and in spite of the 
 bridegroom's aplomb, something like a cold chill in- 
 sinuated itself down his back. He felt less sure of 
 Sadi now ; that intrusive individual probably would, 
 or already was beginning to put two and two to- 
 gether. He would most likely question the dyer to 
 learn more about this substitute bridegroom, where 
 they had found him and how he had appeared. And 
 after fnaking these inquiries what conclusions would 
 the saddler draw! The dervish could imagine, and 
 involuntarily he hastened his steps. He wished to
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 55 
 
 leave the house and the neighborhood behind him as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 He could congratulate himself that those who had 
 charge of his nuptials had not accentuated the later 
 features of the occasion with superfluous embellish- 
 ments, more or less encumbering to expedition. No 
 musicians or hautboys lent unnecessary picturesque- 
 ness or slowness to their progress. Procession ex- 
 penses had been eliminated. 
 
 The streets were, as usual, crowded, and the es- 
 corting quartet kept close to the bridegroom, as if 
 they imagined he might wish to escape now. He did. 
 Circumstances had arisen that made it desirable 
 for him to get away. From their point of view this 
 would be unfortunate, for if he dodged suddenly 
 among the multitude and disappeared, in what a 
 predicament would he leave the young bride ? Mar- 
 ried and yet with no husband to produce. Her 
 plight would be worse than before. Accordingly 
 their vigilance never relaxed and they acted more 
 like constables of the zabit than new-found relatives. 
 He strove to "make conversation", to throw them 
 off their guard, but they answered curtly. Finding 
 his efforts toward sociability of no avail, he relapsed
 
 56 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 into silence and began to fear that there was noth- 
 ing to do except resign himself. But man proposes 
 and Allah disposes. A great hubbub arose in the 
 street. 
 
 "Hi! yi!" A procession of donkeys and camels 
 had stampeded. Distracted people rushed hither and 
 thither; they bore down upon the bridegroom and 
 carried him off; unwittingly they absconded with 
 him. He found himself borne along, this way and 
 that. He was not trying to escape; he was just 
 made to ; he couldn't help himself. When finally he 
 managed to separate himself from that kidnaping 
 human current, he stood in a narrow side lane. In 
 what part of the city? Ah, he knew now! Yonder 
 was the Street called Straight and there, at the 
 corner, was a certain little pastry-shop. He eyed 
 it furtively. Now why had fate landed him here? 
 To play tricks on him? to see if he would stand 
 around for another glimpse of the fair unknown? 
 Nonsense! Why should he wish to see her? He 
 didn't. Nothing was further from his thoughts. 
 He would never have come here of his own accord. 
 Now he was here, he would go away. Let her flut- 
 ter in or flutter out ; let her be as beautiful as a dream
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 57 
 
 he would repair placidly that is, as placidly as 
 other circumstances permitted about his business. 
 This last was rather vague. He didn't know just 
 what his "business" now was, or what it would be. 
 However, he turned his back upon the shop of a 
 thousand succulent delights and was about to move 
 away, when some one spoke to him. 
 
 He regarded this person attentively. No, it was 
 not one of the quartet of guardian relatives who had 
 overtaken and now addressed him. This man was 
 a stranger, of grave and dignified bearing, though 
 dressed in the humble attire of a servant. The 
 bridegroom had seen him before. When? Just 
 prior to the stampede ? Yes ; that was it. They had 
 been swept on together and the other, too, had ap- 
 parently emerged here, or not far away. 
 
 "I fear you have torn your cloak," said the man 
 in respectful accents. "If you will come with me, 
 the house where I serve is near and I shall see that 
 it is mended." 
 
 "Very kind of you," returned the bridegroom 
 mechanically. These courtesies between Moham- 
 medans were common. He followed the other. Why 
 not? He wanted time to think. He was at liberty and
 
 58 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 he had not run away. Should he return to his cap- 
 tors, and what might afterward await him ? To stay ; 
 to go? If he went ? poor Fatma ! If he stayed ? 
 poor dervish! Of course he detested all women, 
 but a man must treat them with a certain considera- 
 tion. He could picture the poor girl wringing her 
 hands and wailing: "What shall I do?" What 
 should he do? And yet to toss a wife literally to 
 the winds? hum! it wouldn't be exactly gallant. 
 He could hear them all wailing: "Lost! A hus- 
 band!" His problem was certainly growing. It 
 promised to become a truly big one. The sheytan 
 (devil) take the dyer! The dervish continued to 
 walk after his guide; at the house where that person 
 served, he (the bridegroom) would, at least, find mo- 
 mentary refuge and opportunity to consider. He 
 could determine then what course was best or least 
 disastrous to pursue. He would have to think hard. 
 The house, as the other had said, was close by. 
 
 A door opened and closed on the dervish, shutting 
 him from the street. He stood in a flowering space 
 within a mansion. A fountain tinkled in the center 
 of the garden, but he did not see it. His eyes were 
 fastened on some one who arose from its marble
 
 LIGHT OF LIFE 59 
 
 edge. At the same time the servant who had brought 
 him thither mysteriously disappeared. The bride- 
 groom stared as at a vision. He thought himself 
 well schooled against surprises, but this one upset his 
 poise. All his previous thoughts went a-glimmering. 
 His heart, though hardened, accelerated a beat or 
 two. Had he jumped from Tale One Thousand 
 and Two into Tale One Thousand and Three ?
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IN THE GARDEN 
 
 IT WAS the lady of the pastry-shop who con- 
 fronted him. He had no intention of going tq 
 look for her, but apparently he had come to her, 
 nevertheless. Or he had been brought thither! 
 Why? He felt like rubbing his eyes or pinching 
 himself to see if it was really true that he stood 
 there, and with her alone in that lovely flowery 
 place. A moment before he had been an escaping 
 bridegroom, reveling in the perplexities of his new- 
 found freedom ; now he found himself plunged into 
 a different role and one that promised to complicate 
 further his already sufficiently embarrassing situa- 
 tion. Not that he was thinking of this! 
 
 As on that other occasion when he had met her, it 
 was the immediate personal appeal of the lady her- 
 self or her attractions which absorbed him. A 
 second meeting with her and on a more intimate 
 
 60
 
 IN THE GARDEN 6i 
 
 basis brought no esthetic disappointment. She 
 was radiantly young and beautiful. Moreover, she 
 made no pretense, this time, of concealing her loveli- 
 ness; she wore no veil whatever, exposing her face 
 freely to the now unconsciously ardent gaze of the 
 young man. Yet she did this without effrontery 
 simply, naturally as one who felt no occasion to be 
 ashamed or abashed at Allah's handiwork. 
 
 He waited for her to speak, but she did not do so 
 at once. He straightened; then he endeavored to 
 look gallant, but the situation withal the appeal of 
 her beauty! struck him as rather preposterous. 
 Here was he, a newly-married man, in another 
 lady's boudoir, or courtyard. It was quite improper, 
 though no doubt it should be very exhilarating. It 
 wasn't really the last, he told himself, though when 
 he looked at her a warmer breath seemed sweeping 
 over him, as a dreamer in an oasis feels at times 
 a wave from the sands wafted through the inter- 
 stices of his cool retreat. 
 
 "I sent for you," she said. 
 
 "So I imagined," he answered. 
 
 "I had to send for you." 
 
 "I am honored." He bowed.
 
 62 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 That was as far as they got for the moment. A 
 mutual constraint seemed to fall on them. Per- 
 haps his eyes were too bold, though he didn't intend 
 them to be. What was he to do next? What did 
 she expect of him? Not to make love to her, cer- 
 tainly! And yet she had sent for him. There is 
 only one reason why women do that in the Orient. 
 He gave her a quick elderly-brother kind of look. 
 He would not have believed it of her with those 
 eyes ! wells of pellucid clearness ! She, so young, 
 so fair! An intrigue! He, a cynic, ought not to 
 be surprised, though. Especially as he was a prin- 
 cipal in the matter. He ought to feel flattered. He 
 should fall on one knee press her little hand, or 
 the hem of her gown. Hum! the little hand was 
 inviting enough, if one cared for that role. It 
 looked white as a snowflake against the warm-hued 
 gown. It would nestle cosily enough, no doubt, in 
 a man's big palm, the while he murmured words 
 they hummed in his mind, on a sudden such 
 words ! Most appropriate ones ; fine ones ; a sheytan 
 seemed breathing them in his ear. His eyes glowed 
 with them the unspoken phrases. Did she read 
 and understand that insidious, if involuntary, mas- 
 culine, telepathic communication?
 
 IN THE GARDEN 63 
 
 She should, logically, all in all considered, have 
 received it gladly and responsively. Instead she 
 seemed to shrink from it. Some instinct now ar- 
 rested the trend of that too impetuous and unworthy 
 message in the man's brain. His gaze narrowed 
 more critically not quite impersonally yet, how- 
 ever the situation was too extraordinary and 
 bizarre! He had to get back to the primal consid- 
 eration she had sent for him she met him alone, 
 unveiled. He shook his head ; he began to feel severe 
 and stern again ; figuratively he waved aside the imp- 
 like sheytan who would have gone on with uncom- 
 mendable promptings. Under the circumstances it is 
 not surprising that he should behave stupidly. 
 
 "I am here," he said. He couldn't think of any- 
 thing else to say. 
 
 "I thank you," she .answered. Nothing ardent 
 about that ! Nothing ardent about the eyes ! Noth- 
 ing ardent about the inflexible young figure! But 
 logic what a cynic is logic! battled with appear- 
 ances. She had not asked him here there was no 
 reason why she should have asked him here for the 
 interchange of mere empty platitudes. He remem- 
 bered his own daring words to her before the pastry- 
 shop. Did they suggest a solution? Modesty his
 
 64 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 own forbade, and yet women sometimes did 
 take sudden and most extraordinary fancies. Had 
 she sent for him because ? Impossible! He, the 
 beggar ; she, the fine lady ! It would be like one of 
 those fantastic tales of the romance reciters to 
 hashish-steeped brains a tale of the wonderful 
 princess and the poor porter variety! No, no, no! 
 He would have dismissed the possibility but there 
 was that miserable sheytan again who always likes 
 to be present on these occasions whispering absurd 
 fancies in his brain. 
 
 "Madam," he said, "are you married?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 He shook his head mournfully. "Thought so," 
 he muttered. "Thank you for the cake !" 
 
 "What cake?" 
 
 "The one the dog got." Listlessly. 
 
 "What are you talking about ?" she said. 
 
 He did not explain, nor did she ask further his 
 meaning. She did not know him ; she did not recog- 
 nize the dervish in him. Of course not! He should 
 have known she wouldn't ; he did know, really. He 
 had merely thrown out the words in a casual hope- 
 less sort of way, because he was mentally so en-
 
 IN THE GARDEN 65 
 
 tangled by the divers and complicated webs enmesh- 
 ing him. 
 
 She was now nervously clasping and unclasping 
 her hands. She had forgotten his last words ; most 
 likely she had hardly heard them ; her mind seemed 
 wholly absorbed with thoughts of her own. Though 
 she looked at the young man she seemed scarcely 
 to see him. Her gaze was the antithesis to what the 
 poets would have it under these romantic circum- 
 stances, for was he not handsome, young and at- 
 tractive enough, as men are attractive to women? 
 Yet he suddenly experienced the feeling that he was 
 but a lay figure in her eyes something to be moved, 
 shifted, adjusted or set, to meet certain require- 
 ments, or needs. It was a descent from the sublime, 
 but he didn't feel much hurt about it. After all, 
 a lay figure has a charming irresponsibility of its 
 own. It doesn't have to take the initiative; it is 
 a passive creation. It is not expected to answer 
 for anything. The dervish smiled; she was far off 
 now not really, but like a figure in a picture you 
 half close your eyes to look at. He was content to 
 contemplate ; he permitted his brain to stop working 
 too actively.
 
 66 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "I sent my servant to find you," she went on. 
 
 He nodded. "He found me." These words im- 
 mediately struck him as being superfluous, like his 
 presence there. 
 
 "I told him to go to the mosque and fetch you," 
 she continued more hurriedly. 
 
 "To the mosque?" he murmured with a faint in- 
 flection of surprise. "Why there ?" 
 
 "Because he would find you there !" 
 
 "But how did you know?" 
 
 "I knew you were to go to to pray/* 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I'm supposed to be praying now." 
 His accents were frivolous. He seemed to have 
 jumped from one absurdity into another. 
 
 "My servant was to say words that would bring 
 you here," she went on quickly. 
 
 "Words? ah, what words?" Dully. 
 
 "Surely you know since you are here." 
 
 The dervish made a deprecatory gesture. "May- 
 be I ought to know, but I don't. I don't seem to 
 know very much," he added humbly. "I didn't get 
 as far as the mosque." 
 
 "You didn't?" she said. 
 
 "No. With the best intentions I was carried off.
 
 IN THE GARDEN 67 
 
 But it was not my fault! Blame the donkeys!" 
 
 "I don't understand." She spoke wonderingly. 
 
 He explained. The humor of the situation 
 seemed now to appeal to him, but she didn't even 
 smile. "I I thought it was soon for you to be 
 here," she said. 
 
 "I tore my coat. Your man offered to have it 
 mended if I followed him." 
 
 "I see now." Her eyes expressed enlightenment. 
 
 "Wish I did," he muttered. 
 
 "That was why it was so easy to get you here, 
 I mean." Her gaze studying him clearly. 
 
 "Yes, it was just as easy!" Helplessly. 
 
 "I feared he might have difficulty, though I hoped 
 and prayed he would not. He was to kneel near you 
 In the great mosque and whisper words to attract 
 your attention. He was to make you come." More 
 excitedly. 
 
 "And why should you have wanted to see me 
 so much ?" said the man. 
 
 "As I told you, it was necessary." She came 
 nearer, the clear eyes shining with suppressed feel- 
 ing. "There is something I want you to do." 
 "Ask it!" He spoke readily. "But first, if you
 
 68 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 will pardon my curiosity, how did you happen to 
 know I was going to the mosque at all ?" 
 
 "I couldn't help knowing." 
 
 "Then you are a friend of the family ?" he cried, 
 
 "I am your wife," she said simply.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE SURPRISE 
 
 "1\/T Y WIFE! " He Iooked at hen 
 
 XV A Ah ?" He tried not to appear sur- 
 prised. "My " He stopped and looked at her 
 again. "Quite so ! I've just been married. Got to 
 have a wife. Can't be married without one!" He 
 studied her more closely. "You! Pardon me " 
 He stroked his chin. First she had attracted him in 
 front of the pastry-shop though she didn't know 
 about that! and then she had married him, or he 
 had married her, or they had married him to her. 
 It didn't much matter how it had come about, only 
 it had happened. "You my " he began again. 
 
 "Is there any necessity of repeating it?" she said. 
 There was a flush on her face. 
 
 "Not at all! Not at all!" he answered absently. 
 His "wife" was handsome; there was no denying 
 that A bride for a sultan, if he wanted a bride; 
 but he, the dervish, didn't! He was sure of that. 
 But that confounded dyer had told him he was to 
 
 69
 
 70 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAYS 
 
 be married and yet "not be married" ! He was not 
 to see the bride. They had deceived him. He ought 
 to feel very indignant ; he had a right to. He tried 
 to imagine himself both indignant and annoyed. 
 Why, the girl was even lovelier than he had thought ! 
 All the more reprehensible on their part for hood- 
 winking him like this ! Or stay, perhaps they didn't 
 know? Most likely not! This was his wife's doing 
 hers, alone she wanted to see him. 
 
 His brain was now a whirlpool ; ideas danced and 
 bobbed about in it like chips on the seething waters. 
 He began to feel mildly intoxicated, not with her, 
 or her beauty, but with the novelty of the moment. 
 His wife! his bride! his honeymoon! It prom- 
 ised to be more exciting than he had dreamed. And 
 he had looked forward to a calm and placid period in 
 the seclusion of the dyer's house, where tobacco and 
 coffee and other creature comforts of the lot of a 
 benedict, or of a man who is "married without be- 
 ing married", were to have been his for the asking. 
 The dervish sighed. What we imagine, what we 
 dream, is seldom realized! His gaze returned to 
 Fatma and lingered. He did not have to exercise 
 any great effort of will to keep on looking at her.
 
 THE SURPRISE 71 
 
 "You were telling me? Where were we?" he 
 said. "Which leads me to ask very pertinently, and 
 I trust not impertinently, where am I?" Looking 
 around him. 
 
 "You are in my house." 
 
 "Your house? I don't understand." 
 
 "It belonged to my own mother." 
 
 "But aren't you supposed to be at your step- 
 mother's at her home?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "Then why?" 
 
 "Is it not apparent? I came here to see you?" 
 
 "And your stepmother doesn't know ?" 
 
 "She doesn't." 
 
 "Nor?" 
 
 "Any of the others !" She spoke with sudden pas- 
 sionate impatience. Her face at that moment was 
 as wilful as it was proud. 
 
 He looked down uncertainly. "Afraid you've 
 been very imprudent," he muttered. "A rendezvous 
 with your own husband !" He gazed at her sardon- 
 ically. "You really shouldn't I mean, you ought 
 not to have done it." 
 
 "You mean I have been unmindful of the risk to
 
 72 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 you? You fear?" The fine eyes could blaze, the 
 red lips curl. How straight the slender figure; like 
 a young palm ! 
 
 "Hum! And what if I do?" 
 
 "I did not think of that." 
 
 "You didn't think? When did you think about 
 it at all? Ah, when you were studying me from 
 behind the screen!" She did not deny. "And what 
 if I should say I were a little afraid?" he added 
 with a smile. 
 
 "I should try to see if your cupidity was not 
 greater than your fears," she returned disdainfully. 
 
 "Cupidity ? Oh, you mean you would try to buy 
 me?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "With gold?" 
 
 "Gold, or jewels. I have both." 
 
 "And you think you could do that buy me ?" 
 
 "Of course," she said again. Her tone was mat- 
 ter-of-fact. It seemed to imply that he wasted 
 time in useless quibbling. 
 
 He shook his head approvingly. How he had 
 misjudged her! There was no thought of love- 
 making in her eyes. No tender errand of the heart
 
 THE SURPRISE 73 
 
 had brought her here. Her mission, whatever it 
 could be, was of a practical nature. She wanted to 
 buy something. He was like a tagir, or merchant 
 who had goods to sell. She was there to bid. Would 
 he have to say in oriental fashion: "Receive it as 
 a gift, my dear patron," and then prepare himself 
 to bargain to the bitter end? Those beautiful eyes 
 were shopping eyes. Better so; far better so! He 
 heaved a commendatory sigh. 
 
 "But what if just suppose the possibility you 
 couldn't buy, what you wanted to buy, from me?" 
 he threw out tentatively. 
 
 "I am rich," she said disdainfully. 
 
 She had always an answer. This was certainly a 
 simple one. It said plainer than words that it was, 
 or would be, all a question of "price" with him. 
 And she was prepared to pay. Her manner was 
 as haughty as that of a grand lady. She made him 
 feel very small, though he was taller by a good deal 
 than she. He looked down on her from his superior 
 height with a certain patient apathy. Her hair, like 
 the wing of a dark bird, shaded the fair face, empha- 
 sizing its proud pallor and beauty. Above the eyes, 
 which seemed to say they would have what they
 
 74 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 wanted, her brows were as two straight soft feathers 
 that had fallen from the wing. The lashes curled 
 long and enticingly beneath. They were most ro- 
 mantic lashes for bargaining. A poet would have 
 fallen prone before them. The dervish, though, 
 stood his ground. 
 
 "What would you have me do ?" he said. "Maybe 
 it won't cost you so much as you think. I am not 
 very avaricious. My wants are simple. I I might 
 even do it for nothing." 
 
 "For nothing?" she repeated incredulously. 
 
 "Yes; without charge. That surprises you?" 
 
 "It does." 
 
 "You think every man is to be bought and sold 
 like " He stopped; his voice had begun to have 
 a slightly indignant ring. Ridiculous! 
 
 Her lashes had lifted. A faint look of curiosity 
 shone in the eyes they so fully revealed. He came 
 down to the level of his own position abruptly. 
 Hadn't he bargained with them that cursed dyer 
 and the other fellow? Oh, folly of follies! Was 
 he not but a mustahall a substitute husband? 
 Could the lady do "business" with him? Of course 
 from her standpoint ! From his? had he a right
 
 THE SURPRISE 75 
 
 to a standpoint ? Would he not have to look at the 
 situation from her point of view? Had they not 
 robbed him of his identity, his own personality? 
 Had they not shorn him of all the finer instincts? 
 He must act, seem and comport himself like a grace- 
 less, bold young scoundrel of the desert. He tried 
 to look brigandish; he made a special effort as her 
 eyes were now studying his features. He sought to 
 temper in his own gaze any casual admiration for 
 her charms with the furtive restless gleam of an 
 outlaw on the lookout for stray jewels. He even 
 glanced at the lady's fingers; they were devoid of 
 ornament. He endeavored to appear disappointed, 
 but only succeeded in looking foolish. 
 
 "Want me to do something, do you?" he mur- 
 mured. "Well, what is it?" 
 
 She seemed to hesitate. The fine face expressed a 
 shadow of trouble or embarrassment. Perhaps it 
 was not easy to tell him, this paid mustahall, what 
 she wanted? Perhaps she would have to unveil 
 some secret one would not reveal willingly to such 
 as he. But she must have gone over all that; she 
 must already have decided to pursue this course. It 
 is, however, easier to determine on a certain plan
 
 76 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 than' it is to pursue it when the inevitable moment 
 for action arrives. The lady still hesitated. Her 
 face even flushed. He saw and divined, and straight- 
 way he forgot himself for just a moment. He shed 
 the degrading spirit of the mustahall; he emerged 
 from that part as from a detestable cocoon. The 
 trouble in her eyes had flashed like a wireless mes- 
 sage through the air and somewhere, beneath his 
 gay kamees, had found a receiving station. 
 
 "What is it ?" he cried. And then "Trust me," 
 he added fervently. 
 
 "Trust you?" said the lady with undisguised 
 amazement. He came to himself with a start. 
 
 "Seems to me you've got to," he observed bluntly. 
 He was angry with himself maybe slightly an- 
 noyed with her. Again he strove to look like an un- 
 scrupulous villain. It was an anomalous role. 
 Fancy trying to make your own wife think you 
 worse than you are! It was against all precedent. 
 Husbands especially newly-wedded ones always 
 want their wives to think them a little better than 
 they are. No wonder he found his role a trying one ! 
 It was unnatural; that's what it was; unnatural. 
 But he hadn't wanted to be married, anyway. At
 
 THE SURPRISE 77 
 
 least, she might be frank and help him out. Had he 
 awakened her suspicions; did she find him different 
 from what she had expected the conventional 
 mustahall ? That would be awkward deuced ! 
 
 "You want me to do something," he went on. "Is 
 it something your stepmother would approve of ?" 
 
 "No, no !" No doubt of the emphasis. 
 
 "Ah, then, it is something surreptitious," he mur- 
 mured brilliantly. 
 
 "Would I come here if it were not ?" she retorted. 
 
 "Your stepmother is your enemy? She has you 
 in her power?" he went on. She did not answer; 
 the dark brows, drawn a little closer together, gave 
 her eyes a more intent look. He walked thought- 
 fully away a step or two, then turned. "Maybe 
 I can guess the source of your trouble," he said more 
 lightly. "You have been a little dubious about the 
 advisability of this this expedient?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" Her breast was stirring 
 slightly. 
 
 "This marriage !" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Of course, not the marriage itself with me 
 that was necessary. It wasn't quite that I meant.
 
 78 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 What I was about to say was, you have entertained 
 certain doubts concerning possible consequences be- 
 cause of the need of your taking me," with a wave 
 of his hand intended to be reassuring, "for your 
 husband. The whole trouble is right there. You 
 had to have what you didn't want. I sympathize 
 with your position. And when you got what you 
 had to have, but didn't want, you asked yourself 
 what if that which you didn't want, you would have 
 to keep on having ?" 
 
 She caught her breath quickly. "I don't believe 
 I understand." 
 
 "Your mind is naturally timorous under the cir- 
 cumstances. What woman's wouldn't be? That is, 
 what woman of delicate sensibilities?" 
 
 "Will you make yourself plainer?" she said dis- 
 dainfully. This mustahall promised to be a most 
 presumptuous fellow. 
 
 "I shall try," he laughed. "You have heard of 
 false mustahalls, those who do not keep to the strict 
 letter of their bargain?" Her look changed. "You 
 have feared I might prove such a one !" Gaily. Her 
 eyes seemed insistently to bid him go on. "These 

 
 THE SURPRISE 79 
 
 fellows fall in love, or pretend to fall in love, for 
 selfish reasons, with those they have married." 
 
 "Yes ?" Her voice was low, intense. She looked 
 at him as if he exercised, at that moment, a kind of 
 uncanny fascination for her. 
 
 "Sometimes these substitute husbands have to be 
 paid very high in piasters to divorce those whom 
 they claim have thrown a spell over them. They are 
 sad rascals. They sigh they profess reluctance to 
 go but they go in the end." 
 
 "Well ?" she said in a still small voice. 
 
 "Do I have to explain further? The source of 
 your anxiety is as apparent as yonder cloud in the 
 sky. You fear that now you are my wife ha! 
 ha ! I may refuse to divorce you!" 
 
 The red lips parted suddenly as if to speak, but 
 no sound fell from them. The man smiled know- 
 ingly. 
 
 "It wouldn't be hard for a husband of the moment 
 to pretend that, in this case," he said lightly. "That 
 he had fallen in love with you, I mean !" Shades of 
 the roses, how her face glowed! How the deep 
 eyes flashed with sudden fire ! And the proud head
 
 8o ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 tipped back! He lifted an admonishing hand. "But 
 have no fear! I am not falling in love, or even 
 pretending to fall in love with any one not even, 
 my wife!" With a bow. "Though she is so " 
 He paused on the verge of a compliment. "There- 
 fore, reassure yourself. Dismiss these fears. I am 
 a true mustahall" Tapping his breast. "I have 
 made my bargain and I keep to it. I do not want a 
 double commission. It it might ruin my business 
 in the future. You see I make a profession of 
 marrying and then unmarrying. And give a musta- 
 hall a bad name " He had to explain his mag- 
 nanimity. "You understand? He would court a 
 diminishing patronage ; is it not so ?" 
 
 She regarded him as if spellbound. The shadow 
 of the cloud passed between them and vanished up 
 the side of the wall. The fountain tinkled most 
 musically. It was the only sound. A big buccaneer 
 of a bee stood almost on its head in its greedy de- 
 sire to extract all the honey from a wee modest 
 rose. The falling water was soothing. It seemed 
 to sing a sweet little song a kind of domestic 
 lullaby. What better world than here? the blue 
 sky overhead? the scent of the flowers around
 
 THE SURPRISE 81 
 
 vou? it seemed to murmur. The dervish listened. 
 It was a very hypnotic little fountain. It had a 
 voice that entered your ears and filtered down into 
 your breast. It made you lift up your head some- 
 what, the way callow youthful people do, when re- 
 calling favorite lines of poetry seems a worthy oc- 
 cupation. Did its insidious murmur include the 
 lady? Or was she but an unwitting part? 
 
 The dervish, or newly married bridegroom, gave 
 his shoulders a charateristic jerk. 
 
 "This is your house, I believe you said." He 
 spoke in a dispassionate tone. "Who lives here?" 
 
 "A caretaker and his wife," she said me- 
 chanically. 
 
 "Call them in." Incisively. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "What is to be done, should be done at once. 
 They shall be witnesses." 
 
 "What do you mean? What are you going to 
 do?" Breathlessly. He had stepped toward the 
 house. 
 
 "What I should do; what I have agreed to do!" 
 Briskly. "I am going to divorce you set you free, 
 now at once!"
 
 82 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "But," she began, "that is just what I" 
 A loud knocking at the gate interrupted. She 
 stood very still. The man looked around toward 
 the gate. "Do you think it is ?" 
 
 She did not answer. Her servant, the caretaker, 
 appeared from the house. He regarded his mistress 
 inquiringly. She held her fingers to her lips as 
 if cautioning him to be silent, then with a gesture 
 indicated the gate. The servant walked toward it.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A CALLER 
 
 "T T T HO is there ?" The servant called out. 
 
 V V A voice outside answered, then asked a 
 question. The servant replied negatively. 
 
 "But my mistress insists," came in louder ac- 
 cents from the other side of the gate. 
 
 "Tell your mistress that I, the caretaker, and my 
 wife are here alone. Peace go with you!" 
 
 "And with you!" returned the man in the street 
 with but little zest Then footsteps shuffled away 
 as if reluctant to be gone. The servant stepped to 
 his mistress. 
 
 "It was >" He murmured a name and once 
 more disappeared. The bridegroom gazed after him 
 admiringly. 
 
 "My wife certainly has loyal servants," he mut- 
 tered. "Falsehoods flow from his lips like oil." 
 She did not seem to hear ; her face expressed a new 
 
 83
 
 84 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 anxiety, and "Some one from your step- 
 mother's?" he asked quickly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "They have noted your absence ?" 
 
 Again she answered mechanically in the affirm- 
 ative. That he was at large was also probably 
 known, by this time, at the home of Light of Life. 
 
 "Will they look for me here?" 
 
 "They might." She continued to stand with head 
 down-bent. 
 
 "Then they would have to suspect you of wanting 
 to see me?" Categorically. 
 
 "It is possible it is even probable." 
 
 "They must not find me here." Emphatically. 
 
 She raised her dark tragic eyes. "You do fear, 
 then, mustahall!" she said with unspeakable dis- 
 dain. 
 
 "I might reply you should think of the conse- 
 quences to you, if I am discovered in this place." 
 More gently. 
 
 "Well, well, you are right to fear," she went on-, 
 as if not catching his words. 
 
 "You mean they would not spare me?" He pro- 
 fessed dismay.
 
 A CALLER 85 
 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 "I can guess." And he could. Some one would 
 be very jealous of her. The girl's beauty was of 
 the type that fans a flame; her witchery would go 
 to certain masculine brains like the rich wine of 
 Lebanon. Daggers and scimitars loomed large 
 upon the hymeneal horizon of the dervish's im- 
 mediate future. No cupid's arrow, but a big shining 
 blade would probably pierce his heart. At least, his 
 first matrimonial experience promised not to be dull 
 or monotonous. They would not sit and yawn at 
 each other. He wondered absently what she would 
 do if the worst happened to him? Would she scream, 
 or would she laugh? The latter would perhaps be 
 more appropriate. She had a most musical laugh. 
 He seemed to hear it again wafted down from a 
 housetop, or from the heavens. Was it less than 
 a day since he had looked up at the pink pulsating 
 star? What a big full day it had been! 
 
 "No, they would not spare you," she said calmly, 
 fatalistically and conclusively. 
 
 "They?" he repeated. That, of course, meant 
 "him" his predecessor at the altar! The dervish 
 regarded her in a far-away manner. Somehow, it
 
 86 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 didn't seem possible she had ever been married be- 
 fore; he didn't know why it didn't, but it didn't. 
 The impression was very strong, though he couldn't 
 exactly explain it. Only it was as if she appeared 
 in a role she did not fit. She was so very young, 
 so girlish-looking, despite her proud ways so so 
 everything that didn't harmonize, or dovetail with 
 what was ! But, after all, so much that was, seemed 
 impossible. 
 
 "That would be too bad," he remarked, jumping 
 back to her last words. 
 
 "I don't believe you are afraid," she said sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I am. Only perhaps I am forgetting 
 to show it. So much else to think about !" 
 
 "You do but jest," she said haughtily. And yet 
 did her eyes gleam on him with a little more favor? 
 
 "I assure you I am feeling most uncomfortable," 
 he remarked. 
 
 "Why do you say what is not so ?" Severely. 
 
 "Wish I knew what was so and what wasn't!" 
 he murmured. "For example, why should they cut 
 a man's throat for seeing his own wife? Most 
 illogical ! Now, if it were some other man's wife "
 
 A CALLER 87 
 
 He paused abruptly. "Which reminds me there 
 was something I was going to do when we were in- 
 terrupted. If you will kindly overlook the un- 
 avoidable delay, I shall now proceed to " 
 
 "No; no; that is just what you mustn't do,". ex- 
 claimed the girl feverishly. 
 
 "I beg your pardon " 
 
 "That is why I sent for you that you would not 
 do it!" 
 
 "Not ?" He blinked slightly. The sun was very 
 bright here and shone in his eyes. "You mean I 
 that you want me, not to divorce ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Not to set you free?" 
 
 "Yes. I wish to remain your wife!" 
 
 He lifted his hand to his brow. He had been 
 treated to a few surprises before, but this one 
 seemed of rather larger dimensions than the others. 
 Had he heard correctly? As far as he knew there 
 was nothing wrong with his hearing. He turned 
 the words over in his mind. They were certainly 
 simple and direct enough; there was no chance for 
 a misunderstanding. She wanted to continue to be 
 his wife! She! He was not to be permitted to
 
 remain a mere nuptial chimera. He was, if she 
 had her way, to become a connubial fixture. He 
 looked at her with a smile a rather silly one. 
 
 "Is it a jest?" he thought of saying, but he 
 didn't. A few moments before she had accused him 
 of jesting. He knew she, however, was in deadly 
 earnest, tragically so. Her expression left no 
 doubt in his mind on that score. 
 
 "I wish to remain your wife!" 
 
 The words were reechoing in his brain. The 
 fountain seemed to whisper them the leaves to 
 murmur them. Under some circumstances, a man 
 might have felt flattered by such a declaration from 
 one whose provocative graces were comparable to 
 those of the fabled horeyehs of Paradise, but the 
 dervish hugged no pleasing unction of this nature 
 to his soul. 
 
 "Would you mind explaining?" he said in as 
 matter-of-fact a tone as he could muster. 
 
 "Is is it necessary?" she asked. 
 
 "No a. I suppose not. Explanations, a waste 
 of time !" Ironically. 
 
 "That is quite true." She accepted his words 
 literally. "We shall come to an understanding, the
 
 A CALLER 89 
 
 sooner." Her tone was almost businesslike. She 
 had regained, in a great measure, her equipoise. He 
 regarded her with mild wonder. Her character 
 seemed to develop amazingly; her resourcefulness 
 was remarkable. Her determination promised to 
 brook no opposition; to sweep aside all obstacles. 
 His wife was not a "wishy-washy" being. Quite 
 the contrary! "What I expect from you modifies, 
 of course, your original arrangement," she con- 
 tinued. "Therefore, you should receive extra com- 
 pensation. I have come prepared. Here" 
 thrusting her hand into the bosom of her dress 
 "are jewels, a fortune to such as you." 
 
 The man looked at them. She was no niggardly 
 pay-mistress that was certain. And what a set- 
 ting for the gleaming and glistening baubles that 
 soft rosy palm she held extended! It seemed to 
 invite kisses rather than to offer jewels. Did she 
 notice now an involuntary quickening of his gaze 
 and misinterpret it? "Well, why don't you take 
 them since they attract you so ? Extra work, extra 
 compensation!" The red lips curving. "Even you, 
 who professed to being a conscientious mustahall, 
 need have no compunctions." From her accents it
 
 90 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 was evident she did not think he would have any, 
 and as she spoke she let the gems slip from her hand 
 to a brass table. He could take them when he 
 would. But the fellow seemed prone to prolong 
 the interview unduly. Perhaps he was deeper than 
 she thought. 
 
 "It is asking a good deal," he temporized. "It 
 is more than I bargained for." It was, indeed ! "I 
 I wouldn't have entered, at all, upon this tender 
 relationship," he blundered on, "had I not under- 
 stood " 
 
 "You were to divorce me immediately after- 
 ward?" 
 
 "Exactly!" 
 
 "But why should you be so particular?" Her 
 voice began to show the nervous tension she labored 
 under. The little hand that had extended the 
 jewels was now tightly closed at her side. "A wife, 
 more or less, what does it matter to you? You go 
 away ; you forget about it ; you can marry as many 
 times as you please. It is the law the law for 
 men! Even the lowest! As for me, I remain; I 
 am still a wife yours! No one can gainsay that." 
 There was a glad thrill in her voice.
 
 " Here are jjewels, a fortune to such as you "
 
 A CALLER 91 
 
 "You call that being a wife?" He could not re- 
 sist the desire to scoff. Her satisfaction was too pre- 
 posterous. She seemed fairly to exult in that way of 
 being married of becoming a kind of phantom 
 bride! she who was not a phantom at all, but a 
 radiant and most alluring actuality. "I either want 
 a wife or I don't want one. I certainly don't want 
 one that way. Besides, why is it necessary? It 
 isn't. Didn't you weep to be taken back by the 
 other?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Weep! And how can you go back to him, if 
 you remain my wife?" he went on glibly. "You 
 can't be the wife of both of us that is, at the same 
 time. A man may have two wives, but a wife can't 
 have two husbands." 
 
 "Who told you I wept to be taken back?" said 
 the girl in low tense tones. 
 
 "El Sabbagh." 
 
 "He lied." Succinctly. 
 
 "Eh?" The dervish stared at the slender figure, 
 the uplifted head. "You didn't want to be taken 
 back," he said incredulously. 
 
 "I didn't; I don't!" She forgot apparently, for
 
 92 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 the moment, that he was only a mustahdl, and spoke 
 with burning intensity. Though she stood very 
 still she seemed quivering with emotion. The man 
 
 could not but be acutely aware of it. 
 
 "Then why," he asked helplessly, "did you 
 
 marry me?" 
 
 "It was you, or some one else. The bride has no 
 voice. The wekeel speaks. The bride may be 
 wringing her hands above. She is forced to marry, 
 if others will it." 
 
 "Hum!" he muttered. Perhaps she had been 
 "wringing her hands," because she had to marry 
 him. And now that she had him, and could get rid 
 of him, she didn't want to. 
 
 "A girl? What is she?" There was a smolder- 
 ing resentment in the wonderful passionate eyes. 
 "Nothing! But a man any man even the meanest 
 mustahall, has every privilege under the law. He 
 can marry and divorce at will. Or he can keep 
 his wife as long as he wishes. So it is necessary 
 to deal with such as you," mockingly, "to buy my 
 freedom !" 
 
 "Freedom ?" he said. "Do you call it buying your 
 freedom, to tie yourself to me?"
 
 A CALLER 93 
 
 "Isn't it?" 
 
 He pondered. A paradox! In remaining his 
 wife, she was free. What, however, did that make 
 of him? A nullity! Manhood protested. This im- 
 perious young woman took a good deal for granted. 
 To be a cipher for a day or two might be endured, 
 but to be one for a hundred or a thousand days 
 to permit one's self to become an endless multiplica- 
 tion of ciphers? It was not to be borne. He would 
 assert himself. He would gird on his armor. He 
 had need to. He recognized the danger in the situa- 
 tion for him. He had had experience in woman's 
 ways, or wiles, and here, there was sorcery in the 
 air. Every perfumed breath warned him. Youth 
 and beauty in distress ! What an undermining com- 
 bination! Blessed be those powers of resistance 
 which he had cultivated! 
 
 He drew himself up to his full stature. "I beg 
 your pardon," he said distantly but gently, "what 
 you ask is quite " 
 
 He got no further. It may be she was not so 
 assured as she seemed, that her confident bearing 
 was more or less assumed, for the straight proud 
 figure seemed to waver, and she put out her hand
 
 94 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 with a most human and impulsive gesture not at 
 all the grand dame kind of a gesture! For the 
 moment she seemed unequal to the stronger part and 
 gave evidence of a palpable and feminine weakness 
 which threatened to play havoc with that earlier 
 haughty composure. 
 
 "You must not refuse you must not !" She was 
 very girlish as she spoke, appealingly so. "I have 
 really brought them all all !" 
 
 "All?" he said, as not understanding. 
 
 "Yes." Eagerly. "All my jewels! Every one." 
 
 "Oh!" His face grew sterner. She thought he 
 might want to bargain further that he was only 
 holding off because he might get more. He was 
 beginning to feel annoyed. Her persistence was as 
 disconcerting as her methods for keeping a husband 
 were questionable. To buy to wheedle any way 
 to have her own way! How like the sex! 
 
 "See here !" he began roughly, and stopped. Some- 
 thing in her eyes stopped him a light that was not 
 a bargaining light. He could not speak roughly 
 to her, so he bit his lip impatiently and strode to 
 and fro. The girl watched him. He passed the table 
 with the jewels on it and felt like kicking it over. He
 
 A CALLER 95 
 
 laughed savagely. A fine predicament! He looked 
 at her almost resentfully. How some men would 
 welcome the chance to marry her. His predecessor, 
 for example ! But she wouldn't have him, no doubt, 
 because he was willing and available. Woman's 
 perversity! In the case of that other, however, it 
 would, of course, be a real marriage ; not such fool- 
 ish business as this! He glowered at her charms 
 and quickly she looked away. From his six feet 
 or so of superb masculinity he gazed down at her 
 with frowning disapproval. Her face was sad now 
 confound it! What a face it was, too, when sad! 
 How one of his painter friends who were always 
 looking for the intangible and the inexpressible 
 would exclaim at the sight of it. The brow like 
 snow the perfect profile the eyes fixed as if 
 studying the future! 
 
 "See here," he began again roughly, when she 
 stepped suddenly to him. Her manner was feverish. 
 
 "It came to me, when I looked at you from be- 
 hind the screen at Light of Life's, that you might 
 not be quite like the others," she said rapidly. "I 
 mean I do not know quite what I mean ! but you 
 were not just as I thought you, a paid mustahall,
 
 96 AlfADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 would be. That thought occurred to me but I dis- 
 missed it It was too preposterous. I forgot it. 
 Mustahalls are mustahalls. But it came to me 
 again." 
 
 "Again?" he repeated. 
 
 "Just now!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I can't exactly tell. Perhaps it was when you 
 passed the table and looked at them " Her white 
 hand indicated the jewels. "Your face seemed to 
 say" 
 
 "What?" He could not but smile. His wife 
 was certainly a versatile young woman. She had 
 penetration and was a good deal of a sibyl. 
 
 "I can't just define it," she said, almost wearily, 
 "only" looking at him and yet beyond him "if 
 I can't make you do what I want without them, 'it 
 may be I can't with them. I don't know why. It 
 is hard to understand. You must be different from 
 other mustahalls. 
 
 He regarded her now, not annoyedly, but contem- 
 platively. Her powers of divination might prove 
 disastrous. He was skating on thin ice. 
 
 "Suppose I didn't divorce you? " he began.
 
 A CALLER 97 
 
 "Yes?" Joyously. 
 
 "What would your Amad say?" 
 
 "He " Her voice became almost fierce. She 
 certainly looked her aversion for that person. 
 
 "You see, he he employed me," suggested the 
 dervish gently. 
 
 "But he misrepresented " 
 
 "That is true." The dervish started. 
 
 "He told you I wept. I! I!" Her laugh was 
 like the murmur of an icy brook. 
 
 Involuntarily the dervish shivered. "And I asked 
 particularly about that, too," he observed. "They 
 assured me I mean the dyer that I should be a 
 benefactor." 
 
 "And you wouldn't have consented, if you had 
 known I hated him?" 
 
 "Amad?" 
 
 "Yes, yes; if you had known I both hate and 
 despise that I would kill myself rather than ever 
 go back to him?" 
 
 "Kill yourself?" he repeated. His pulses were 
 beating stronger. It was as if he had unconsciously, 
 even against his will, caught a little of her excite- 
 ment, the tense feeling under which she labored
 
 98 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 which seemed to carry her on, without thought now 
 "You!" 
 
 "You wouldn't have consented if you had known 
 that?" she asked again. "Tell me quick. I must 
 know. Tell me!" 
 
 He started to answer impetuously ; he almost did. 
 The girl had temperament ; she was most convincing 
 and he had been nearly swept along by her. But he 
 caught himself in time. 
 
 "I think I should have considered further before 
 embarking on the enterprise," he returned after a 
 moment's forced hesitation. 
 
 "You would?" There was both gladness and 
 triumph in her tone. His answer seemed as much, 
 if not more, than she had expected. "I was not 
 wrong, then, though I dared not believe " She 
 came closer to the young man and a contagious ex- 
 hilaration seemed to emanate from her. He felt it 
 subtly. 
 
 He moved slightly. "At least I should have made 
 a few inquiries before committing myself," he con- 
 fessed rather stiffly. Deuce take it! What extraor- 
 dinary physical beauty the girl possessed ! The idea 
 of standing so close to your wife and being afraid 
 of touching her! He felt, on a sudden, he wanted
 
 A CALLER 99 
 
 to get away not that there was really any danger 
 pf his making a fool of himself. Not at all; he 
 had long since got past that sort of thing. How- 
 ever it was time to go. 
 
 "All right," he said briskly. "I'll not divorce 
 you." After all, his keeping her as his wife did 
 mean little to him. His objections had been more 
 sentimental than practical. He could afford to waive 
 them magnanimously. "Besides, I've carried out 
 half my contract with them," he laughed. "Enough 
 to pay for the square meal they gave me ! I imagine 
 we're about quits, under the circumstances." 
 
 "Allah reward you," said the girl. Was there 
 moisture in her eyes ? 
 
 "Pooh !" He waved a hand. "As you pointed out, 
 it is nothing for me to do. A few wives, more or 
 less eh? What is she about now?" This last to 
 himself. 
 
 For the girl had turned quickly, picked up an ob- 
 ject from somewhere and stepped back with it. "A 
 Koran," she said. "I had it ready." 
 
 "For what?" The moisture had already van- 
 ished from her eyes. 
 
 "For the oath you are to take; one no Moham- 
 medan would dare break."
 
 ioo ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Oh, I have to take an path?" Truly his wife 
 was very businesslike ; she certainly took no chances. 
 "Couldn't you stretch a point," he went on with ac- 
 cents slightly hurt, "and trust me ?" 
 
 "I could," said the girl, "only," practically, "this 
 way is better. If you broke the oath you would be 
 plunged into Hades." 
 
 "But suppose I swore never to divorce you, and 
 you changed your mind some day? Women do, 
 you know. What would you do then?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "I shall not change my mind. I don't ever want 
 to get married again." 
 
 "You may only think you don't. You are rather 
 young, and ahem! not unattractive. Perhaps 
 the right man may come along some day and " 
 
 "I hate all men." With finality. 
 
 "But you may not always. And then to be en- 
 cumbered with me? That would be awkward, 
 wouldn't it? Suppose we modify the oath?" Suspi- 
 cion began to shine in the dark eyes that studied 
 him. She had been brought up in a hard school. 
 "Suppose I swear to keep you for my wife, as long 
 as you want me to ?"
 
 A CALLER 101 
 
 "But I shall never see you again." 
 
 "Hum! That is so." 
 
 She bent forward quickly, the Koran in her 
 hands. "Put your hand on it," she said. 
 
 He did so. The glory of her dark hair waved 
 before him almost touched him. His ringers were 
 on the book. They thrilled, but not through con- 
 tact with it. Her own fingers were touching his. 
 That could hardly be avoided for the book was not 
 large. A wave of sweetness seemed ascending from 
 the sacred volume into his arms. It seemed getting 
 into his head, too. 
 
 "I solemnly swear that I will keep thee, Fatma," 
 said a voice. It was soft, low and penetrating. 
 
 "I solemnly swear that I will keep thee, 
 Fatma " How solemn his own voice ! He couldn't 
 help feeling somewhat sober. He heard no longer 
 the fountain or saw the flowers. He saw only her, 
 the background a strange blur. 
 
 " keep thee, Fatma, for my wife, forever " 
 
 " keep thee, Fatma, for my wife, forever!" It 
 was done. He had taken the oath. He looked deep 
 into her eyes. They seemed to invite him, though 
 of course they didn't mean to. But they were the
 
 102 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 kind of eyes that would invite any man any real 
 human man without intending to. He felt he was 
 about to do something foolish, perhaps she was his 
 forever a most desirable possession! He was. for- 
 getting himself, when suddenly the girl started back. 
 The book fell from her hand.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON 
 
 THE servant had again come out of the house 
 and approached them. Obviously he had 
 serious news to impart, for his customary grave de- 
 meanor had undergone a change. The man's face 
 showed excitement 
 
 "Oh, my mistress, Amad-Ahl-Masr is here!" 
 
 "Here?" she exclaimed wildly. "Where?" 
 
 "At the side entrance to the house. There are 
 others with him, and he says if we do not unlock 
 the door, they will force their way in." 
 
 "Quick!" The girl turned to the dervish and there 
 was consternation on her features. "You must go !" 
 
 "Go?" His fingers yet thrilled from the touch 
 of hers. 
 
 "Yes. He will demand that you carry out your 
 contract with him and divorce me " 
 
 "And as I can not, now ?" 
 
 "He would try to find a way to make you. He 
 103
 
 will stop at nothing. He would make you prisoner, 
 or, if necessary, he would kill you. You must get 
 away far, far away, somewhere " 
 
 "All right. I'll go. I'll do my best." And he 
 started, though a little reluctantly, for the gate. He 
 would have liked to see Amad. Confound him! 
 He wondered what he was like, the man who 
 had once wooed and won her? Not that he, the 
 dervish, was jealous of him and her past. That 
 was impossible; he had only met the girl for 
 the first time yesterday. But he was a bit curious. 
 He would confess to that. 
 
 "One moment !" She pushed quickly past him to 
 the lattice of the gate and an exclamation of dis- 
 appointment fell from her lips. "You can't go out 
 that way." 
 
 "Why not?" He experienced an odd passive- 
 ness. She was directing the affair. Her dark eyes 
 glowed with excitement perhaps, too, with a little 
 dread. 
 
 "Two of his servants are out there in the street, 
 near by, and yes there is that doorkeeper from 
 Light of Life's. He stands at the corner and 
 watches. You could not pass them."
 
 AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON 105 
 
 "I could try." 
 
 "No, no! They have their instructions. And if 
 you did not give yourself up at once, they would not 
 spare you." 
 
 He knew that assassination, as a fine art, still 
 existed in Mohammedan countries. Men disap- 
 peared and influence stifled inquiry. Amad had in- 
 fluence. His feelings could be imagined when he 
 learned definitely that the dervish had no intention 
 of setting his "wife" free. His rage would be un- 
 bounded that the substitute husband had dared come 
 here, at all, and meet her. He might still give the 
 latter a chance to carry out the original program, as 
 a matter of expediency, but if the dervish did not? 
 Well, his speedy demise would release her from 
 all ties and Amad would then be free to force his 
 attentions once more on her to remarry her. 
 
 The dervish's life was therefore really very 
 precious to her though not for disinterested reasons. 
 Circumstances had ordained that henceforth he 
 would be to her as the apple of her eye. He had to 
 live, for her sake. Was she considering all that 
 her own plight if anything happened to him? He 
 studied the proud lovely face. She certainly seemed
 
 106 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 most anxious. Her eyes shone with solicitude fof 
 him. That was good. She clasped and un- 
 clasped her hands, as if trying to think fast 
 how to get rid of him, now? He was a perpetual 
 appendage, but he was also an encumbrance. He 
 appreciated her embarrassment the problem she 
 had to solve and strove to assist her. 
 
 "Perhaps there is some other way to get out of 
 the house to eliminate myself?" he suggested. 
 
 "Except for this gate and the side entrance, there 
 is no way," she answered feverishly. 
 
 "Isn't there a canal at the back? Thought I 
 heard one go singing by." 
 
 "There is a canal but " She turned to the serv- 
 ant. "Go to the side door.' Find some excuse to 
 keep them out yet, just a little while. Say I am con- 
 sidering say anything that we will open in a few 
 moments." 
 
 The man nodded hastily and vanished. His eyes 
 were comprehensive but dubious. 
 
 "You were saying there is a canal ?" continued the 
 dervish briskly. "Any windows looking out upon 
 it?"
 
 AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON 107 
 
 "Only a basement window. But you must not go 
 that way." 
 
 "Must not from a wife?" 
 
 "The canal is swift and deep just now. The 
 mountain rains have made it more a torrent than 
 a canal. It is very dangerous." 
 
 "And I might get drowned ? That wouldn't do," 
 he laughed. 
 
 She did not answer. Her glance swept nervously 
 toward the house. 
 
 "I can think of nothing! nothing!" There was 
 helplessness, almost despair in her voice. 
 
 "Which brings us back to the canal," said the der- 
 vish cheerfully. "Some one has to decide, and in 
 this case, I don't think there is much time " 
 
 "There isn't!" 
 
 "Then I'll exercise a husband's prerogative, and 
 command. The aqueous exit! So be it. There! 
 there!" He raised his hand. "Not a word. It is 
 determined. I am authority itself. And now an- 
 other thing to get out of Damascus safely, I must 
 discard these garments. I must have others. Don't 
 contradict me. We haven't a minute to waste,
 
 io8 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 unless you know the alternative. Just listen and 
 obey." Even in that moment of emergency her 
 eyes dilated slightly. He was certainly most uncere- 
 monious in his manner for a nameless vagabond of 
 the desert. "Can you find me an extra suit of your 
 man's?" he demanded. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the girl. 
 
 "Then get it for me." 
 
 Just an instant she hesitated ; then "Come !" she 
 said hastily. Imperious though she might be, her 
 own strategic ability had for the moment failed her. 
 She was at a loss what to do herself, and so permit- 
 ted him to "take the lead," figuratively. It was she 
 who literally led the way to the house. The man 
 smiled. His first domestic victory! Also, his last! 
 Sobering thought! Now a household despot no 
 other autocrat so mighty! in a few moments, 
 what? 
 
 His mind did not linger on lugubrious contingen- 
 cies, however, as he followed his wife across the 
 court. It was briefly employed in esthetic contem- 
 plation. She certainly had a charming neck. Be- 
 neath the masses of hair, a tiny lock nestled on the 
 white skin. He had not noticed it before. It was
 
 AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON 109 
 
 a most fascinating little lock, for one so haughty 
 and proud-looking. It seemed to have been wound 
 around Cupid's finger itself, to curl so coquettishly. 
 Nothing stand-offish about it! It seemed to lure a 
 lover's fingers, to invite a man to his own destruc- 
 tion. That is, if a man did not have himself per- 
 fectly under control, as he had. 
 
 As they entered the house and passed into the 
 mandarah, they could hear voices at the side en- 
 trance. The dervish paused while the girl went on. 
 The caretaker was speaking and he was obviously 
 doing his best, making the most of a thankless task. 
 
 "It is true I told the servant of Light of Life my 
 mistress was not here," the dervish heard him say. 
 "It is also true that she is in the house now. But 
 she was not here then. She arrived since." 
 
 "Liar!" came from without. "We have had the 
 place well guarded. And that beggar of a dervish 
 he is even now here with her " 
 
 "Impossible !" Fervently. "By the beard of the 
 prophet, what would my mistress want with such as 
 he ? A lady finely bred ! a low mustahall!" 
 
 "He was seen to enter by the neighbors. I have 
 their word." More shrilly.
 
 i io ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "That fellow. Oh, he was but a seller of licorice 
 water. Allah has cursed my good wife with a sweet 
 tooth and the erk-sose but came to the door with his 
 cup and went away again. By the sacred tomb of 
 the prophet I even swear it is so, as you will see 
 when presently I shall have orders to admit you." 
 Again an answer from without, which was followed 
 by: "Such impatience! And from one who has 
 really no right to come here, at all ! She is not your 
 wife now, though she will soon enjoy that honor 
 once more. And I shall be the first to rejoice for 
 her. But meanwhile is it fit to bring scandal upon 
 her you, an ex-husband? The law is plain in the 
 matter. We could refuse to admit you altogether, 
 but we won't." Truly the fellow had a ready tongue. 
 "My mistress is most complaisant. She has nothing 
 to fear. She will even see you, and very shortly. 
 My wife is with her just now in the bath. Soon, 
 however, she will be attired, and then though, with 
 proper precautions, and veiled, she may admit " 
 
 Expostulations from the other side of the door! 
 That angry voice the dervish remembered so well 
 yesterday night in the inner court of the mosque! 
 Threats ! Matters were coming to a climax. Amad
 
 AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON in 
 
 was not in a mental condition to cool his heels long 
 on the door-step. "I will give you five minutes to 
 open and deliver unto me this fellow. Not a 
 minute longer! We know he is here and he can't 
 get away. Why defer?" 
 
 A shadow fell across the black and white marble 
 pavement near where the dervish stood, and turn- 
 ing, he saw the girl; over her arm were garments. 
 At the end of the apartment was a recess, 
 with arches, and this she indicated. There was no 
 need for words. She waited without, while he en- 
 tered. The recess, containing vessels of perfume, is 
 designed particularly for rest and meditation. The 
 dervish did not indulge in either, though the thought 
 did cross his mind : Under proper conditions, what 
 a place for a road-worn rover, after the shocks and 
 knocks of the world with one the one, to bring 
 you the water-pipe and then, to recline, exhaling 
 the fragrant tobacco, and to dream, the while you 
 regard beauty through veils of smoke, or apostro- 
 phize it in the original Arabic, with such words as 
 
 "Hasten," said the girl without. 
 
 But he hadn't been wasting any time. Having 
 hastily thrown off his outer garments, he donned
 
 112 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 those she had brought him. Then thrusting the gay 
 clothes his predecessor, Amad, had provided, under 
 a frame made of palm sticks, where they 
 would not, most likely, be found at once, the dervish 
 rejoined the girl. He was no longer a bridegroom, 
 but a sober-looking serving man. Silently they 
 moved out of the mandarah, through the less ornate 
 servants' apartments, until they reached a stone 
 stairway, leading down. 
 
 He did not permit her to pause now, but went 
 down first. She followed with a taper. Her eyes 
 were wide and bright and she moved mechanically 
 as if she were doing something through no volition 
 of her own. In the dim light she appeared like some 
 beautiful young tragedy princess. The young man's 
 manner, however, was neither tragic nor somber. 
 He cast a comprehensive glance around him, then 
 turned to the casement. The masonry was old and 
 in a few moments, with the aid of a stick of fire- 
 wood, he had pried loose the iron bars and removed 
 them. It was not a difficult task. Then he looked 
 out; the surface of the canal was near, and the 
 waters ran swiftly. 
 
 "We call it the 'black death', when it is swollen
 
 AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON 113 
 
 like that," breathed the girl. She had set down the 
 light and looked over his shoulder. Swirling, seeth- 
 ing, the dark current ran beneath houses and through 
 subterranean places. 
 
 He turned his head ; he was listening now, not to 
 the mad waters, but to sounds above. Amad was 
 coming in, and they hadn't unlocked the door to ad- 
 mit him. The din he caught apprised the dervish 
 of the manner of the other's entrance. She, too, 
 looked around. But the head of the stairway still 
 was dark. Only the flickering candle lighted the 
 basement. Without, not a star's reflection touched 
 the surface of the water. Like ink it rushed along. 
 
 "You ought not I really have no right to let you 
 go this way " the girl half faltered. Did she 
 really care just a little bit, if anything happened to 
 him, thought the dervish. But again came that 
 damning reflection the reason for solicitude on her 
 part! Ladies of high degree do not care what be- 
 comes of mustahalls. They, the beggars and the 
 dervishes, are only the flies of the desert. One, 
 more or less, what matter ? 
 
 "It is the only way," he answered. "And I'm a 
 fine swimmer, so don't worry. No cause ! I'm go-
 
 H4 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 ing to get safely away. Not the slightest doubt 
 in my mind about that. And then I'll put a big 
 distance between us. Seas shall separate us," he 
 added cheerfully. She did not appear so reassured 
 by his words as she should have been, and so he took 
 another tack. "Amad won't, of course, harm you. 
 And he can't marry you. Why, you can laugh at 
 him. As you did before! And snap your fingers! 
 The game is yours. I'd stay, if it would do any 
 good. But I'm distinctly de trop!" He ended with a 
 laugh. 
 
 Her hand touched his arm, though she was una- 
 ware of the gesture. Her eyes swept back to the 
 doorway and he saw in them a new expression. 
 
 "Why, you aren't afraid? You!" he exclaimed, 
 wonderingly. 
 
 It was fear he saw shining in their depths. 
 
 "You fear to have me leave you to meet 
 Amad ?" he cried. 
 
 She threw back her head. "Afraid to meet him ! 
 Never!" There was contempt in her eyes, disdain 
 no fear now. 
 
 "Good," he said approvingly. He believed her; 
 she had spirit, courage; she was only overwrought. 
 "Always bear this in mind: It is only I against
 
 AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON 115 
 
 whom his anger or his malignity can be turned. The 
 sabit magistrate will protect you. The law is 
 very strict There must be absolute evidence that a 
 woman is divorced, before another man may take 
 her." 
 
 "Yes, yes ; I know," said the girl. Did the proud 
 lips tremble slightly? He reached over and patted 
 her shoulder. Fancy patting the shoulder of a 
 haughty young goddess! The girl drew suddenly 
 back, but he did not notice. His eyes were now 
 bent again toward the staircase. A light had flick- 
 ered above, then vanished. 
 
 "Good-by," he said, with a grave smile. 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 "That wekeel was a fool," he said. 
 
 "What wekeel?' 
 
 "The one who described you to me. As if any 
 wekeel could do justice to you!" 
 
 "What are you saying?" 
 
 "Did Amad ever tell you, you had beautiful 
 eyes ?" 
 
 "Go! go!" she murmured half incoherently. 
 Above the sounds were very close now. 
 
 "I little thought when I saw you before the pastry- 
 shop that I should be married to you to-day."
 
 ii6 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Pastry-shop?" She caught his words, but they 
 meant nothing to her then. 
 
 "You threw me the cake. Very good of you! 
 Only a dog got it." 
 
 The light flared again above. They were coming 
 down. 
 
 "You made a poor dervish forget his prayers." 
 
 "Quick!" Her eyes were appealing. "Go! go!" 
 they implored him now. 
 
 He went, but first he bent over her ; he hadn't the 
 remotest intention of doing it, but he did; his lips 
 swept hers. "A kiss! One can surely give his wife 
 a kiss in parting." His gay reckless laugh rang 
 out. The girl started back and her face was crim- 
 son. She stood alone now but not for long.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IN THE STABLE 
 
 i 
 
 A SERVANT, several hours later, opened the 
 garden gate of a house on the other side of 
 the town and stepped slowly in the darkness down 
 the smooth stone steps leading to the water. He 
 had almost reached the last of them when, uttering 
 a startled exclamation, he dropped his bucket. One 
 of his bare feet had come in contact with a damp 
 object a man dead? drowned? The figure lay 
 huddled up just beyond the reach of the water. For 
 a moment the servant seemed uncertain whether to 
 go or stay. He ended by stooping over the man and 
 dragging him up the slippery steps. Staggering 
 with his burden no light one across the lawn, he 
 opened the door of an outbuilding and allowed the 
 figure to slide to the ground. A great gaunt Damas- 
 cus dog which had been curled up in a corner, 
 uncoiled himself and came up to nose the stranger. 
 A moment the servant stood puffing, then going to a 
 
 117
 
 ii8 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 kettle simmering above a few charcoal embers in 
 a brazier, he half filled a cup with water, poured into 
 it a few drops of a gin-colored liquid, called "whis- 
 ky" by the natives, and thrust the mixture upon his 
 unexpected, and more or less unwelcome guest. 
 
 The latter, after a few moments' persistent effort 
 on the part of the servant, mechanically swallowed 
 the contents of the cup, whereupon the servant 
 threw a ragged and odorous blanket over him and 
 returned to his belated task. He hurried out with 
 another bucket and came back with it filled. He 
 bestowed no further attention on his guest. Allah 
 had permitted the latter to swallow; ergo, he was 
 not dead. It was enough. The servant's concern 
 now lay solely in a horse, a magnificent beast, big- 
 boned and with a small head. As he wiped the 
 splashes of mud from him, the man grumbled. The 
 Moslem Beelzebub take a master who stayed out 
 late and brought the peerless Star of the Desert 
 home in such a condition ! However, he polished the 
 big beauty sedulously and when he had finished, the 
 Star fairly shone. Drawing back to contemplate his 
 work, the servant became aware that his guest was 
 sitting up.
 
 IN THE STABLE 119 
 
 "That's a good horse," said the guest, with the eye 
 of a connoisseur. 
 
 The other assented. 
 
 "I presume," continued the guest in a rather weak 
 voice, "you brought me here?" 
 
 "My back tells me so," returned the servant, 
 grudgingly. "You were out there on one of the 
 steps." 
 
 "Yes, I remember getting on them and wondering 
 if I would slide off. Then I didn't remember any- 
 thing more until just now." 
 
 The servant threw a fine blanket over the horse; 
 he had to be served royally ; picturesque tassels hung 
 from the edge. "How came you in the canal?" the 
 servant asked curtly. 
 
 "How? Hum! Let me see; my head is in a 
 whirl." It was, indeed. Oh, for the fluent tongue 
 of his wife's servant the caretaker ! "Didn't I have 
 an argument with some Christian converts?" He 
 held his head, as if striving to collect his shattered 
 ideas. 
 
 "Most likely!" returned the servant. "There are 
 many such too many ! Dogs !" He ejaculated and 
 spat.
 
 120 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "I recall being set upon. I was one among many, 
 and" 
 
 "They threw you into the canal !" 
 
 "No ; I jumped in, to escape." Honestly. "None 
 too soon, I tell you. They almost had me " 
 
 "It was a brave deed," commented the servant. 
 
 "They were fiends." 
 
 "They always are." 
 
 "They would have cut me to pieces." 
 
 "We will cut them in pieces," said the servant. 
 "Red days are in store. We shall have to exter- 
 minate them once more. May the time be near!" 
 With which invocation he lay down and was soon 
 snoring loudly. 
 
 His guest did not fall to sleep so easily. His body 
 ached for he had been dashed and bumped about 
 until he was covered with bruises. How far he had 
 come and how he had managed to escape drowning, 
 he did not know. He had swept in and out of black 
 infernos. Once he had been pinned in somewhere 
 among the supports of a house. The experience 
 was not a pleasant one ; he did not like to think of it. 
 His thoughts were still chaotic, however, for he 
 couldn't think of anything very clearly. He retained
 
 only confused impressions. He wondered if it were 
 his wedding-day still, or the day after? How many 
 hours had passed? He saw his bride again as he 
 had seen her at that moment of parting. 
 
 What madness had caused him to take leave of 
 her in that manner? It was not chivalrously done. 
 But what sweet lips the girl had ! Or are only stolen 
 sweets the best? Had he, the cynic, acquired new 
 and dangerous knowledge? Had his own temerity 
 bred in him a certain fever the wish to see once 
 more her whom he would never see again ? That act 
 of inconsideration would then react upon himself. 
 So would she be avenged if it were so. 
 
 But, of course, he was only a little feverish and 
 imaginative to-night there had been a chill in the 
 water and he had fought with the current so long! 
 He could imagine all kinds of things her hatred 
 of him now, for example ! He had caught one look 
 in her eyes before he had jumped into the canal. 
 She had certainly been surprised. He didn't quite 
 know whether he was sorry or glad for what he had 
 done. His brain ought to be singing mea culpa, 
 but it wasn't at least, perceptibly. A honeymoon, 
 without a kiss ? Just fancy ! He would have been
 
 122 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 a dolt not to have done it when her lips were so 
 near. Such lips ; like poppies ! He was feverish, con- 
 found it ! Fancy his thoughts dwelling on such a lit- 
 tle thing as a kiss! It was attaching too much im- 
 portance to the matter. He would forget it just as 
 he would forget her he would have to, of course. 
 No use remembering a wife you're never going to 
 behold more! So he turned over and composed 
 himself phlegmatically for slumber. 
 
 But it didn't come. Other arms than those of 
 Morpheus wooed him. Deuce take the whole affair! 
 Most inconsiderate of Number One to have broken 
 in upon him like that ! Had it not been for Amad 
 and his foolish jealousy, he would have taken 
 leave of the girl in circumspect, orderly and 
 decorous fashion. But Amad's coming had bred 
 an atmosphere of chaos; excitement was in the 
 air. It was a time when men comport themselves 
 irrationally. It was an unnatural, concentrated kind 
 of leavetaking. Multum in parvo, as it were. Too 
 much multum, he grumblingly told himself. On one 
 hand Amad, thirsting for his blood ; and on the other 
 the water hissing most unamiably ; between them the 
 girl, fashioned as if by the divine chisel of Prax-
 
 IN THE STABLE 123 
 
 iteles. A devil and a deep sea species of situation ! 
 It had brought out unexpected and primal instincts 
 in him. A cave man that's what he had been for 
 the fraction of a second. Even the water hadn't 
 quite cooled his ardor. But the thought had come to 
 him while struggling with it that he must live, for 
 her sake. Amad mustn't get her, because she didn't 
 want him to. Did he himself also not want 
 him to now ? Of course not ; he was purely disinter- 
 ested. Or, at least, he might as well be. No use of his 
 really wanting her always for himself ! He would be 
 like a child crying for the moon. Luckily he didn't 
 want her so he reiterated. He had done that once 
 or twice before, mentally. Their separation for all 
 eternity actually and truly had begun. He was here 
 and she, somewhere else. Thus it would be; only 
 more so for he would be farther away much far- 
 ther soon. And it was well! It was best. It 
 couldn't be better. Star of the Desert kicked the side 
 of his stall. 
 
 "Peace, thou king of thy kind," the snoring ser- 
 vant woke up long enough to say. 
 
 The Star ceased further demonstrations; perhaps 
 the flattery soothed him. Then a curtain seemed
 
 I2 4 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 drawn down upon the dervish's mental activities. 
 The god of slumber relented finally and was kind to 
 him. 
 
 The daylight shining in the stable awoke him. 
 He was stiff, but his head felt clearer. He looked 
 about him. In his stall, the king of his kind 
 munched, turning occasionally to eye the intruder 
 with suspicion. The latter walked over to him and 
 the king looked dangerous. But the dervish liked 
 horses, and beneath the stroking fingers his royal 
 highness soon became less haughty. A few minutes 
 later the servant walked in, bringing dates, bread 
 and water, and followed by the big canine. 
 
 "Eat," he said laconically, setting these before 
 his guest. 
 
 The guest, however, first said his prayers. It 
 wouldn't have done to miss them. 
 
 "By the faith, he prays well," murmured the ser- 
 vant. "It is good fortune to have such a one in the 
 house." 
 
 "Then shall I stay with you a short while," said 
 the other unexpectedly. The thought had come to 
 him that he might find it difficult, if not impossible,
 
 IN THE STABLE 125 
 
 to get out of the city now. Amad would have every 
 gate well watched. It might be better to rest here 
 for a day or two, until the first excitement, attendant 
 on the dervish's escape, had subsided. Then he would 
 stand a better chance of stealing forth undetected. 
 Perhaps, too, he would hear of some caravan leaving 
 and might find opportunity amid the confusion of 
 its departure to take his own. Besides, his joints 
 ached still, and he could imagine himself not up to 
 the mark if certain exigencies arose. A brief period 
 in which he could think and plan would certainly 
 not come amiss. 
 
 The servant looked doubtful, however. "The 
 master likes not idlers," he observed, "though you 
 do seem both a good and a pious man !" The dervish 
 had added a posture or two, more than necessary, to 
 his prayers, for effect. 
 
 "Why need I idle?" he now hastened to say. "Is 
 there no work to be done ? Here, in the garden, for 
 example? Yonder bushes are not well-kept, and 
 there is some weeding to be attended to in that bed." 
 
 "It is even as you say," the servant thoughtfully 
 admitted. "The boy who helped me, a lazy rascal,
 
 126 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 has taken to his heels, and one pair of hands can not 
 do all, with the Star to look after. But the wage? 
 My master pays little. A few coppers a day " 
 
 "Charge your master what you will for my wage, 
 and add it to your own. I have taken a vow to toil 
 for no more than bare sustenance." Fanatical Mo- 
 hammedans sometimes do this. 
 
 The proposition seemed to impress the servant. 
 Indeed the dervish could not have found a better 
 way for the attainment of his purpose. The pros- 
 pect of a little household graft is to a Moslem serv- 
 ant what the magnet is to iron. It draws him irre- 
 sistibly. His whole life is made up of petty grafts. 
 He would rather cheat and make so much money 
 than to acquire the same amount honestly. So he 
 looked upon the dervish with new favor. Perhaps 
 Allah had a purpose in depositing the latter on his 
 door-step. "Allah is good. Blessed be his will!" 
 he murmured. "It sounds fair." 
 
 "Then I am engaged?" 
 
 "You are." 
 
 "Good!" The dervish surveyed the back of the 
 house, dimly seen through the foliage. It appeared 
 an imposing residence. And that garden it offered
 
 IN THE STABLE 1127 
 
 a snug asylum. The sunshine sifted invitingly 
 through the trees and warmed the earth. Yes, it 
 was a nice enough place for a hunted man. Did he 
 wish, too, just to catch a word of news about her 
 before he left? To make absolutely certain all was 
 well with her? Of course it was, but it might be 
 possible to let her know, through some messenger, 
 that he was still alive. It would relieve any doubts 
 she might have. He had told her he wasn't going 
 to be killed, yet she might entertain fears that he had 
 not been able to oblige her by still remaining in the 
 land of the living. No one would think of looking 
 for him here. It was an ideal refuge. Besides, the 
 labor would be light ; no Mohammedan works hard. 
 
 "I'll begin on those vines," said the dervish. Yes ; 
 he would let her know he was safe ; that any appre- 
 hensions she might have of being now a merry 
 widow were groundless. "Those branches need at- 
 tention. By the way" again looking toward the 
 house "who is your master?" 
 
 "Amad Ahl-Masr," said the other. 
 
 "What?" The young man wheeled swiftly.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 AT AMAD'S 
 
 SNIPPING leaves in the garden of her former 
 husband, almost under his very nose! It was 
 not arduous work, yet there was also nothing mo- 
 notonous about it. What had decided him to re- 
 main ? In the first place, he could not very well run 
 away, after having told the servant he wanted to find 
 lodgment there. How could he have receded either 
 with logic or grace? If he had showed disinclina- 
 tion to stay, his conduct would excite suspicion. He 
 couldn't take to his heels without attempting expla- 
 nations, because the garden gate, opening on the 
 street, was locked. He would have to get himself 
 discharged and then shown to the door. He didn't 
 see exactly how he could do that. 
 
 It may be, also for where there is a will, there's 
 a way he didn't quite want himself, discharged. 
 There was a certain weird fascination about being a 
 bona-fide member of Amad's own household. Pri- 
 
 128
 
 AT AMAD'S 129 
 
 marily the dervish had been entertained very charm- 
 ingly by her and now he was being employed, indi- 
 rectly, by him. He seemed doomed to be a kind of 
 family fixture. He wouldn't intentionally have in- 
 truded upon Amad, but now that he was here, he ex- 
 perienced anew, and more emphatically, the desire to 
 gaze upon him. In fact, his curiosity had developed 
 amazingly in that respect. 
 
 He wanted to know what manner of man that 
 more or less lucky Number One was. Was he short, 
 or tall ; handsome or the reverse ? Had he the bear- 
 ing of a lover? Did he carry himself like a hero? 
 Had his good looks carried all (that is, her) before 
 them? Was their divorce merely another case of 
 temperamental disagreement ? Would she some day 
 feel sorry and want to go back to him? He didn't 
 like to think about that, but he had to. It belonged 
 to the contingencies. These handsome fellows, ex- 
 ternally, are sometimes not very handsome inwardly. 
 Maybe he had neglected her. No; no one would 
 ever neglect her. The dervish promptly dismissed 
 that preposterous contingency. Perhaps he could 
 gage the affair better when he saw Amad, and he 
 would risk a good deal to that end. To leave Da-
 
 T 3 o ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 mascus without beholding his predecessor would 
 leave an aching void forever in the adventure. It 
 would be like a story uncompleted; or a play that 
 broke off in the middle. Ethically, he ought to see 
 Amad. He had to. 
 
 But what if Amad saw him? That was another 
 question and an important one. Would he recog- 
 nize the dervish ? Did he know him by sight ? Had 
 Amad arranged with the dyer to gaze upon the luck- 
 less and now well-hated mustahallf It was possible ; 
 for the dyer and his whilom guest had ridden past 
 Amad's house when they had repaired to Light of 
 Life's. The dervish recalled now they had gone 
 somewhat out of their way to pass in front of 
 Amad's imposing residence. He had thought 
 nothing of their so doing at the time, but 
 now the circumstance seemed fraught with signifi- 
 cance. He remembered looking up at Amad's house 
 and fancying he detected a pair of eyes gleaming 
 behind a lattice. It might have been merely a curi- 
 ous maid servant, or it might have been Amad. The 
 dervish was inclined to the latter conclusion. 
 
 It followed then, that he must see Amad, without 
 being seen by him. That might not be so difficult,
 
 AT AMAD'S 131 
 
 for Amad, of course, would never dream he was 
 there, and his position, as only an assistant gardener, 
 or stable boy, would keep the dervish very much in 
 the background. Amad might hunt for him fever- 
 ishly without ; he would scour the highways and the 
 byways of the city, but he certainly wouldn't look 
 for him in his own back yard. This then must be the 
 spot of all spots for safety. It was either that, or 
 the most dangerous. Which? At that moment, 
 through the branches behind which he stood, he saw 
 a face. 
 
 A man stood at a back window of the house and 
 was looking out. He was well over seventy. In his 
 evil and wizened visage, above the white beard like 
 ashes on his breast, his eyes were glowing coals of 
 fire. They were angry eyes and also most determined. 
 He was gorgeously dressed, his robes being of the 
 finest texture and the details of his attire, besides 
 indicating his opulence and worldly importance, de- 
 noted further that he could boast of being a sherf, 
 or descendant of the prophet. His turban was of 
 dark green and on it shone a superb jewel. Pictor- 
 ially he was perfect. He could have dominated in 
 a great canvas -by Fortuny.
 
 132 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 The observer in the garden had given a great 
 start. Was that Amad? that? Fortunately, the 
 leaves fairly screened the dervish, for in his surprise 
 he forgot to turn away his face. That, his predeces- 
 sor that? He could almost have laughed. The 
 dyer had said Amad was of just the "right" age. 
 The right age ? That wicked-looking old man be- 
 side whom she was as a beautiful white flower! 
 
 But perhaps this was not Amad, at all ; only some 
 other member of the household, some relative? Her 
 grand f ather-in-law ! He was old enough for that, 
 the dervish muttered to himself savagely through his 
 teeth. 
 
 "You " The man at the window, whoever he 
 was, called out a name loudly. The voice had a 
 familiar sound. At first, the dervish thought it 
 meant to summon him. But this was not so. The 
 servant who had befriended the dervish the night 
 before came hastily out of the stable and hurried 
 into the house. A moment later the dervish saw him 
 at the elderly person's side. 
 
 "I am here, Amad Ahl-Masr. What is your pleas- 
 ure?"
 
 AT AMAD'S 133 
 
 The dervish scarcely needed now the confirmation 
 of those words to assure him of the truth, and the 
 tragedy of one so young, so fair, married to this 
 man, came over him as a shock. He shouldn't have 
 felt that way, he told himself, but he did. Spring 
 wedded to winter ! It often happened. There were 
 reasons for it happening. Nice, practical, worldly 
 reasons! The girl had beauty wonderful beauty. 
 In a mental background he saw Light of Light, and 
 the dervish scowled. An evil woman that! Indig- 
 nation began to seethe in his brain. He forgot he 
 was a sentimental iconoclast and should only shrug 
 his shoulders or lift his eyebrows over these things. 
 He forgot that he, also, cut no heroic figure, a hus- 
 band who had been bought for her, a Number Two, 
 and not much of a Number Two, at that. He experi- 
 enced a rather vivid interest in what Amad was say- 
 ing to the servant. The latter's prompt appearance 
 had relieved what might have been a somewhat em- 
 barrassing contretemps. There was a possibility it 
 might even yet develop into one. Indeed, there was 
 a strong probability it would. 
 
 "Who is that fellow ?" Amad pointed. His voice
 
 134 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 was savage. He had probably slept little. The 
 mustahall's escape must have enraged him beyond 
 measure. 
 
 The dervish, with his back to the house, gave a 
 stronger snip with the shears. Would the servant 
 relate how he, the dervish, had come there? Amad 
 would, in that event, put two and two together. 
 The dervish drew his breath. The revelation of 
 Amad's personality had injected a new element of 
 interest in the affair. That liar of a dyer ! He was a 
 bigger one than the dervish had dreamed. To think 
 that he had ever permitted himself to be pitted 
 against her in an unequal contest with this 
 villainous old man! Dolt that he had been! And 
 what scoundrels they were ! He could have squeezed 
 that dyer's windpipe and found it a pleasant diver- 
 sion. A pander of youth! Pah! The young man 
 did not stop to think just then, that youth sometimes 
 makes the mistake of thinking it may endure age 
 when accompanied by great coffers of diamonds and 
 gold, and, too late, learns its mistake. This bit of 
 pessimism did not insinuate itself into his worldly- 
 wise mind at the moment. Perhaps a certain 
 pair of lips had given a vacillating touch to his
 
 AT AMAD'S 135 
 
 cynicism. It sometimes has that effect, making an 
 unreasoning vassal of its victim. A dangerous 
 fealty ! 
 
 "Who is that fellow?" Amad had asked. 
 
 Luckily the servant had reasons of his own for 
 not entering into particulars as to just how he 
 had come by his new assistant. 
 
 "He is a most competent helper," replied the serv- 
 ant, "whom I have engaged to take the place of the 
 unreliable fellow who left a fortnight since." 
 
 "He comes well recommended ?" 
 
 "Excellently," lied the man. The grafting in- 
 stinct could not be resisted. It was fortunate for 
 the dervish he had promised the fellow his wages. 
 "I know him well. And for pay, he will be content 
 with " A moment he hesitated, then mentioned 
 an amount. 
 
 "More than enough !" returned the old man. "But 
 never mind. I called you to " He murmured a 
 few instructions which the dervish did not hear and 
 the two receded from the window. 
 
 The young man continued to snip, but not always 
 advisedly. His heart was not in his task. What 
 was going on in the big house? He did not like
 
 136 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 Amad's expression. The latter was, no doubt, much 
 put out, yet there was a certain assurance or wicked 
 pertinacity in his eyes, auguring no disposition to 
 accept the seemingly inevitable. He was obviously 
 one not easily defeated. What, however, could he 
 do? Were not his hands tied? The dervish could 
 conceive of no means whereby the other could en- 
 compass his purpose now. Her second marriage 
 was, by this time, a matter of record on the pages of 
 the official register at the zabit. Yet in spite of this 
 reassuring fact, the young man experienced a new 
 disquietude. The very silence of the garden seemed 
 menacing, and a premonition that trouble was in the 
 air seized him. Amad could, of course, resort to 
 violence and carry her off. The dervish, however, 
 did not believe he would proceed to this extremity, 
 for the rich diamond merchant had both position and 
 reputation to maintain. He was an important per- 
 son in the community and would guard his own dig- 
 nity and good name as a jewel of price. He would 
 not stamp himself as a free-booter. He had too 
 much wisdom and cunning for that. What then ? 
 
 The day seemed interminable. After a time the 
 man servant returned and saddled the Star. As the
 
 AT AMAD'S 137 
 
 fellow led the horse with its picturesque and barbaric 
 trappings to the gate the dervish ventured a query. 
 Was the master going out? The servant replied 
 curtly that curiosity ill became one of the other's 
 humble position, and the dervish was forced to ac- 
 cept the rebuke in silence although he had become al- 
 most fiercely inquisitive. Was the girl still in her 
 own house? And Light of Life? what, at that 
 moment, was her attitude toward her stepdaughter? 
 Slowly too slowly time went by ! About the mid- 
 dle of the morning, the dervish ventured uneasily 
 toward the gate, approaching near enough, amid the 
 shrubbery, to ascertain that it was locked. The serv- 
 ant took no chances of his new assistant escaping. 
 He needed that extra wage. The dervish glanced at 
 the wall, twenty feet high. It would not be easy to 
 get over that. Did he wish to leave Amad's service 
 already? Not exactly! But a great restlessness to 
 know at once what had become of the girl moved 
 him. 
 
 Seconds dragged into minutes, and minutes into 
 hours. Once he heard soldiers go by and caught the 
 sound of muttering voices without. Momentarily 
 they diverted his attention. Was anything amiss in
 
 138 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 the city ? These people seemed excited. He remem- 
 bered the servant's words of last night the conver- 
 sation between Fitzgerald and the guide, which he 
 had overheard a few days before the talk of an up- 
 rising against the Christians. One usually happened 
 about every so often. He, himself, had listened to 
 murmur ings in the bazaars and in the courts of holy 
 places for some time. But the soldiers receded and 
 he heard no more of them. The quiet that followed 
 seemed greater than before and his thoughts quickly 
 reverted once more to that other channel. 
 
 It was now the siesta hour. He looked toward the 
 house door, the one by which the servant had entered. 
 Not a sound came from within. Amad, no doubt, 
 had gone out, and certain of his trusted servants, 
 also, to search for him. A moment the young 
 man hesitated; that house exercised an extraordi- 
 nary attraction for him. He wanted to master its 
 secrets, if there were any. He wished to behold its 
 chambers of mystery and penetrate into the veritable 
 sanctum sanctorum of its master. The dervish laid 
 down the snippers and walked softly but swiftly 
 toward the entrance in the rear wall, which was as
 
 AT AMAD'S 139 
 
 solid and forbidding as that of a prison; the door 
 yielded and he entered. 
 
 He found himself in a dimly lighted storeroom, 
 and for a few moments stood listening, but he 
 caught no sound. A narrow stairway led upward, 
 and after making sure no one observed him, he 
 started to mount it. At the top he peered furtively 
 into a beautiful mandarah, or apartment where vis- 
 itors are received. It was empty and he ventured 
 first to linger before it ; then to enter. None of the 
 servants would probably intrude there, at this hour 
 of the day, in the master's absence. Swiftly the der- 
 vish studied his surroundings. The room was sump- 
 tuously furnished. Rugs, each of which was worth 
 a fortune, were lavishly scattered about. A collector 
 would have turned green with envy at sight of them. 
 The paneled ceiling shone with rich hues. On a low 
 silver table were writing materials, including a gold- 
 decorated ink-horn, and an ivory mittah. In a cor- 
 ner stood a mighty safe. It was the only discordant 
 note; bulky, European, obtrusive. It suggested, 
 however, a practical turn of mind on the part of its 
 owner. Amad wasn't going to trust his treasures
 
 140 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 to flimsy artistic oriental strong-boxes. That safe 
 was an indication of his character. What he got, 
 he meant to keep. He wouldn't let others take from 
 him, if he could help it. 
 
 The dervish stood there motionless for some mo- 
 ments. He did not realize how long. The place 
 seemed to hold him, to exercise a haunting, but not 
 altogether agreeable fascination for him. He did 
 not see it empty, but pictured Amad there, and not 
 alone. Another in the first flower of girlhood 
 had once been mistress of the great house. She, his 
 wife? Incredible! He could not believe and yet 
 he had to. The atmosphere of that palatial interior 
 began to be depressing. He experienced a decided 
 melancholy perhaps because he hadn't eaten any- 
 thing since early morn and then had partaken only 
 of a few dates. One can't be cheerful on an empty 
 stomach. At any rate, he had had enough of Amad's 
 house ! 
 
 About to leave the room and descend to the gar- 
 den, the dervish heard suddenly a noise from the 
 front a loud knocking, at the street door, no doubt. 
 It awakened the house to a new and unexpected life ; 
 a woman servant came down from somewhere and
 
 AT AMAD'S 141 
 
 there was the sound of scurrying feet in different 
 directions. Siestas, long drawn out by domestics, 
 had been rudely interrupted. An agitated hum from 
 remote quarters seemed to say the master had re- 
 turned before he was expected. 
 
 But it was not the master. The dervish heard 
 the smooth oily voice of his old friend, the dyer, 
 bidding certain others to step into the mandarah. 
 
 "We were to wait here the coming of Amad Ahl- 
 Masr," he said to a servant without. 
 
 "Be pleased to go in and wait," came the answer. 
 
 They were now at the door ; the young man would 
 have retreated the way he had entered the house, but 
 it was too late. He looked around him ; the window 
 was barred; he could not escape thither. Then his 
 eye fell on the safe that stood in a corner. Be- 
 tween it and the wall was a little space, and quickly 
 he availed himself of that scanty place for conceal- 
 ment.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE SUMMONS 
 
 THE room, like most Moslem apartments, was 
 fortunately but dimly lighted. The dervish 
 was not very comfortable, however, either in mind 
 or body, and he might be less so shortly. His desire 
 for information was certainly about to be gratified, 
 but at what cost to himself? He tried not to think 
 of the future; the present was sufficiently interest- 
 ing. Though certain projections in the steel strong- 
 box cut into a shoulder and arm, he felt no pain. He 
 heard a servant moving about, probably bringing in 
 the vessel of silver or brass, containing charcoal 
 for coffee. Soon the fragrance of it was wafted to 
 him other odors, too; that of burning benzoin or 
 aloes-wood, in the mankal, mingled with the delicate 
 aroma of the "mountain tobacco" of Syria, in nar- 
 ghiles. The atmosphere was sensuous and still; no 
 one spoke until these preliminary arrangements for 
 comfort had been completed and the attendant had 
 
 142
 
 THE SUMMONS 143 
 
 departed. Then the dervish heard the voice of Sadi, 
 the saddler. His Nemesis! He was there. He 
 could have well dispensed with him an older friend 
 than the dyer antedating his acquaintance with 
 Amad, or her ! 
 
 "You were telling me the search for this dervish 
 has been unavailing," Sadi began. He hesitated 
 before the word "dervish," but it might have been 
 inadvertent. 
 
 "It has." The dyer's voice was mournful. They 
 were all seated now on Amad's cushions, while be- 
 fore them the water-bottles bubbled steadily. "I re- 
 gret no trace has yet been found of him. The fellow 
 has completely disappeared." 
 
 "The search has been thorough?" Again the sad- 
 dler spoke. 
 
 "Can you doubt it? Even the low carriers of 
 water, the hawkers, the sakka sharbeh and others of 
 that class have been enlisted in the task. And do 
 they not know all the nooks and corners ? Could a 
 mouse escape them, half-beggars themselves ac- 
 customed to all kinds of sleeping places? No, no, if 
 the scoundrel were alive in the city, he would have 
 been found by this time. He has been drowned,"
 
 144 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY! 
 
 "Perhaps not," observed Sadi thoughtfully. 
 "You do not know his resourcefulness. I mean," 
 he added hastily, "you may see by what he did last 
 night, he is not one without expedients. He might 
 have escaped the swift waters. He is strong and 
 supple an athlete. That is, I should infer so from 
 the look I had of him," in a peculiar tone, "that day 
 of the wedding. Also, he is a hadji (pilgrim from 
 Mecca), and has crossed deserts. He has faced 
 death a few times before, and/' slowly, "escaped. 
 Though we have not discovered him he still may be 
 hidden somewhere in Damascus. The hemales may 
 have overlooked some place in their search. He 
 may even be nearer than we know." The dervish 
 hardly breathed now. Sadi's perceptions were keen. 
 In the past he had been the deuce of a bore and he 
 promised to become even more tiresome in the 
 future. 
 
 "I hold he is dead," said the dyer with conviction. 
 "Allah," piously, "would not permit a person of such 
 iniquity to go unpunished. Never before was there 
 ingratitude so foul! Our revered friend, Amad, 
 raised him from the dirt. We fed and clothed him,
 
 THE SUMMONS 145 
 
 only to be betrayed basely. The scoundrel sold him 
 out. A blackmailing mustahall! a " The dyer's 
 indignation was getting the better of him and more 
 forcible epithets fell from his lips. Perhaps they 
 were but a mild repetition of those he had heard 
 from Amad. The old saw that listeners seldom hear 
 good of themselves was certainly true in this case. 
 The dervish should have felt so small that the insuffi- 
 cient space into which he was squeezed would have 
 proven all too sufficient. There was no doubt that 
 the dyer himself was feeling small for he had ex- 
 perienced the full weight of the diamond merchant's 
 disapproval. The dervish had been the choice of the 
 dyer had been vouched for by him. And in what 
 a position had the dervish left his sponsor? A 
 scurvy trick ! 
 
 "He seemed so holy, too!" Sadi smiled oddly. 
 "Who would not have trusted him?" bemoaned the 
 dyer bitterly. "Why, he knew his Koran as well as 
 the preacher in the alcove who addresses the pil- 
 grims, before they walk around the sacred black 
 stone. Verses fairly dripped from his lips." Again 
 Sadi smiled, but said nothing. "And when he prayed,
 
 146 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 he never skipped a word. Surely any man would 
 have been deceived by a dissembler so base! The 
 worthy may always be fooled by the unworthy." 
 
 There was martyrdom in the dyer's tone ; he was 
 attempting to justify himself. "I, so frank so 
 honest !" he murmured. "To have innocently served 
 our esteemed patron so ill!" He puffed vigorously 
 like a big aggrieved baby at a bottle. His fat cheeks 
 worked bellows- fashion, when full seeming almost 
 to burst with resentment. 
 
 The others said nothing. One was the dyer's 
 companion on the memorable night when the dervish 
 had consented to be married. He, too, looked 
 downcast. A reflection of the dyer's emotions 
 seemed to have descended on him. As the other was 
 a satellite of Amad, so this person may have been a 
 satellite of the dyer. They were touched with the 
 same stick. The fourth man of the party was a 
 stranger to the dervish. At least, he did not know 
 his voice when he heard it later. The dervish did 
 not attempt to peer out upon the little company. 
 His position was sufficiently precarious without tak- 
 ing any unnecessary risks. He felt that Sadi was 
 there for some peculiar purpose of his own, which,
 
 THE SUMMONS 147 
 
 perhaps, he kept to himself. And the presence of 
 the other three what did it portend? They had 
 not come merely to smoke and drink coffee. 
 
 "Shall we permit this -bandit of the desert this 
 thief, if not worse to laugh in his sleeve?" The 
 dyer put out a closed fist. He was surrounded with 
 smoke now like a disgruntled volcano. 
 
 "Allah forbid!" Two lesser volcanoes rumbled 
 an echo. Sadi was silent. He seemed thinking. 
 He reached for a cardamom seed and held it over 
 his coffee, as if debating whether or not to drop it 
 in, but finally decided on a little perfumed flavor for 
 his beverage. 
 
 "There is a saying, duplicity should be met with 
 duplicity," went on the dyer. 
 
 "It is a good saying." 
 
 "How much truer is it that, when a scoundrel robs 
 you, you are entitled to resort to any means to get 
 back your treasure? Especially when that treasure 
 is one so great as our patron has lost! For as the 
 prophet says : 'More precious than any other posses- 
 sion, a shapely young houri is the true solace of a 
 man's declining years !' ' 
 
 "Well said !" They fairly smacked their lips over
 
 148 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 this sentiment. The dervish bit one of his. To 
 think of her at their mercy ! Sybarites ! Libertines ! 
 He wondered to how much more of this kind of 
 talk he would have to listen ? He could imagine the 
 smirk on the dyer's fat face. Again he seemed to 
 see Amad's wicked eyes in the evil old face. And 
 he, the dervish, had been the ally or the dupe of this 
 precious crowd! He had actually lent himself to 
 their cause. But for that unconscious wrong he had 
 done her, he would atone if he could. They made 
 other comments in this connection, very personal 
 ones, as some men may over pipes, albeit with much 
 ostensible sympathy for Amad's loss. The sly 
 libidinous scoundrels! And they dared talk about 
 his dishonesty and baseness ! He wanted to spring 
 out and bump their heads together. But indigna- 
 tion against them was tempered by another feel- 
 ingeven a stronger one. The dyer's hypocritical 
 words about the end justifying the means? or 
 something of that kind? what did they signify? 
 "Well, Amad will soon have his pearl back again." 
 "No doubt. Only, suppose this robber of a sub- 
 stitute husband were not really dead?" 
 
 The "robber of a substitute husband's" heart was
 
 THE SUMMONS 149 
 
 beating faster. The little place could hardly con- 
 tain him now. Amad soon to have his "pearl back 
 again" ! 
 
 "What if the canal hadn't really swallowed the 
 mustahall?" continued the last speaker. 
 
 "What matter" with a cunning laugh "after 
 what we are to do, is done ?" 
 
 "True! He would not dare, then, to appear." 
 
 "The oaths of four men " 
 
 "Not to mention Light of Life !" 
 
 "He would be denounced as a vile impostor, if he 
 attempted to gainsay us." 
 
 "But he is dead," said the dyer. "And that prob- 
 ably disposes of his making more trouble. Yet when 
 I think of him how Amad caused me to serve 
 him even like the son of a sultan, and how he re- 
 paid all that charity, I might wish it were not so 
 and that he stood here for me to deal with !" 
 
 "Yes; if he were only here," they murmured re- 
 gretfully and sucked at their tubes, when a clatter 
 of hoofs was heard without. The dyer got up. 
 "There is our worthy friend and patron now," he 
 said. 
 
 They hastily abandoned pipes and cushions and
 
 150 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 moved toward the door. "And Fatma, the beloved ?" 
 continued one of the men. "She is safe, where no 
 brigand may again force his unwelcome presence 
 upon her?" 
 
 "Amad has looked to that," answered the dyer 
 significantly. "At first I thought he would kill her. 
 But he did not. Her beauty melted his rage. Per- 
 haps her tears " Again that fiction! "Be that as 
 it may, you can rest assured no one will again be 
 permitted to approach his dearest, his most precious 
 treasure. She is now as safe as his bags of gold 
 in yonder safe in the corner," he laughed. 
 
 A moment later their eyes swept back to the big 
 iron receptacle alluded to. A corner of the dervish's 
 cloak protruded very slightly from the other side. 
 He could not have helped it, the space was so small. 
 That tiny bit of dun-colored garment seemed to 
 attract the attention of one of the men the dyer's 
 satellite for his gaze lingered. It was more sober 
 than the other tints and did not quite harmonize; 
 it could not belong to a cushion or hanging. Was 
 this circumstance about to dawn upon him? Would 
 his somewhat sluggish mind become involved in a 
 deductive process which proceeding from a small
 
 THE SUMMONS 151 
 
 enough cause would lead to a large and startling 
 effect a most disagreeable one for the dervish? 
 Luckily for the latter, at that psychological moment 
 the voice of Amad was heard. It claimed attention. 
 It stimulated the others and it stimulated the sat- 
 ellite's satellite to one end. He did not wish to be 
 outdone in alacrity in paying his respects to the 
 rich diamond merchants. The dyer, Sadi and the 
 other man were already at the threshold. The fel- 
 low quickly followed the trio through the door- 
 way, out toward the front to meet him whose ad- 
 vancing footsteps might already be heard ringing 
 on the marble. That tread did not seem to imply 
 infirmity of purpose; it had a definite combative 
 sound. 
 
 The dervish behind the safe waited no longer, 
 but got up swiftly; they might intercept him but he 
 dared not remain there so must needs take a des- 
 perate chance. The heavy rugs drowned the sound 
 of his footsteps as he passed like a flash across the 
 room. Without, he saw that the dyer and the others 
 were turned from him, and in the dim light he 
 darted across a shadowy space, reached the back 
 stairway, and, undetected, crept softly down it.
 
 152 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 In the rear of the garden once more, the mind of 
 the dervish was in a whirl. They were going to re- 
 , store her to Amad and he couldn't prevent it. A 
 preposterous assertion, in view of the law, unless? 
 They could perjure themselves by swearing that 
 Amad had never really divorced her; that they had 
 been present and heard him say "I divorce you" only 
 twice. This would constitute the "lesser separation" 
 and the diamond merchant could take her back with- 
 out vexatious formalities. But Amad had already 
 acquiesced in that second marriage ceremony; he 
 had offered no objection to it. The written records 
 showed it and all his minions or hirelings could not 
 swear it away. Yet those words, the "oaths of four 
 men?" what did they mean? what could they? 
 
 A sudden baneful light illumined his mind. The 
 four persons could swear that he, the substitute hus- 
 band, had already pronounced the triple divorce in 
 their presence. Oh, it was simple ; the very acme of 
 simplicity and devilishness ! And their affidavits 
 would be entered after the record of the second 
 marriage, in a great glazed parchment book in the 
 chamber of public documents. Amad would prob- 
 ably pay for an extra illumined letter or two as
 
 THE SUMMONS 153 
 
 special reward for the poor mugawir or student who 
 transcribed the text. He might even have it done 
 in beautiful vowel-pointed Arabic which costs dou- 
 ble. The diamond merchant was still in the contest 
 very much so; in fact, it was he, the dervish, 
 who now seemed distinctly out of it. He appeared 
 almost ludicrously helpless; and she? What could 
 courage avail her now? Light of Life was no 
 doubt watching the girl closely. The dyer had in- 
 timated as much that she was practically a 
 prisoner, and the dervish could imagine the vin- 
 dictiveness of that virago as a warden. The old 
 termagant might even attempt to beat her. Moslem 
 stepmothers are quite capable of doing that. The 
 dervish's fists closed, and the veins pulsated on his 
 forehead at the thought. 
 
 He saw Amad glance out of the window once 
 with a grim smile. That facial change was diabol- 
 ically expressive. They were "fixing up things" 
 in there and they were wasting no time about it. 
 Obstacles had but added a few degrees of fervor to 
 Amad's impatience. It needed little imagination to 
 picture the detestable scene being enacted within: 
 the dyer "nibbing" the pen, his ink-horn close at
 
 154 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 hand; the others watching, the saddler somewhat 
 aloof; the diamond merchant, with malignant 
 shrewdness, suggesting a word here and there. 
 They would certainly divorce her completely and 
 beyond peradventure. There wouldn't be a flaw 
 in the divorce. It would be as perfect as one of 
 Amad's own diamonds the black kind. As a bene- 
 dict, the dervish wouldn't have a leg to stand on. 
 He would be lucky if he saved his neck. 
 
 Night descended, a most funereal sort of night, 
 and found him working mechanically. He had 
 wrought all manner of havoc among the vines and 
 was now clipping just to hear the sound of the 
 snippers. The servant came out and called him into 
 the stable for supper. He was not hungry and he 
 wanted to stay in the garden but he had no excuse 
 for remaining there. So he forced down his throat 
 a few more dates and a crust. 
 
 "In the name of Allah !" The servant uttered the 
 customary words before eating. He, too, appeared 
 absent-minded, and spoke perfunctorily. 
 
 "Any news in the town?" said the dervish. He 
 had no desire to make conversation, but he 
 thought the servant might tell something of his
 
 THE SUMMONS 155 
 
 master, where the latter had gone when he had 
 ridden forth on the Star, and what he had done. 
 
 At his question, the servant looked at him curious- 
 ly and the dervish noted in his eyes an unusual sup- 
 pressed gleam. "News?" repeated the man and 
 pointed to a window. "What does that look like?" 
 
 "A reflection in the sky," said the dervish dully. 
 
 "It is that." Significantly. 
 
 "Some house in the poor quarter aflame, I sup- 
 pose?" In the same tone. 
 
 "Some house, or houses," answered the man. 
 
 "Soldiers went by to-day," said the dervish. But 
 he was not thinking of the soldiers, or the flames, 
 or anything that might portend. 
 
 "A wonderful night," supplemented the servant, 
 with covert meaning. 
 
 "Is it ?" replied the dervish, with gaze far away. 
 
 "Don't you think so?" The servant asked the 
 question sharply. Was the dervish stupid or less 
 pious than he had seemed? 
 
 "I? Surely it is a wonderful night." 
 
 "But not for Christians!" breathed the man 
 softly. "And not one may leave the city now for 
 the exits are all watched. Any left in town will be
 
 156 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 destroyed. It is the will of Allah. Several inspired 
 holy men have so proclaimed and it can not be other- 
 wise." 
 
 "Indeed ? And was it on this business your mas- 
 ter went forth to-day? to bait the dogs of unbe- 
 lievers to set the populace against them ?" 
 
 "My master's business is his business," retorted 
 the servant shortly. "You would do well to re- 
 member " 
 
 "I should like to go out this evening," interrupted 
 the dervish suddenly. 
 
 "Why?" Surprised. 
 
 "Perhaps even I, too, may have the blessed chance 
 to strike a blow for the prophet. Do you think I 
 have any love for these Christians ? After working 
 hard all day, is not a man entitled to a little pious 
 diversion which will give him a better place in 
 Paradise?" He spoke with enthusiasm the spirit 
 of a fanatic. "Do you come with me, out there in 
 the streets," he added. 
 
 "I?" said the servant somewhat falteringly. "But 
 there is talk of rioting. Think of the danger!" 
 
 "Shall a true believer think of that?" the dervish 
 replied scornfully.
 
 THE SUMMONS 157 
 
 "There is work for me to do here much work." 
 
 "Then let me go. I would see at least a few of 
 these native Christians well beaten." 
 
 "And so find redress for the tumble they gave 
 you in the water?" The dervish did not answer 
 and the servant continued. "The motive, no doubt, 
 is commendable, but what if you don't come back?" 
 The man was obviously considering the possibly 
 brief duration of his own surreptitious increase in 
 wage. 
 
 "Why should I not come back? Haven't I plenty 
 to eat here? Give me the key of the outer gate." 
 He did not attempt to disguise his eagerness for he 
 knew the other would construe it in his own fashion. 
 
 The servant pondered. Perhaps it was as well to 
 let this excellent assistant have a little leeway. His 
 one weakness seemed to be a desire to beat, or to 
 see others beat Christians; but as this was a virtue, 
 as long as he gratified the propensity at night, out 
 of working hours, it might be unreasonable to seek 
 to curb it. So "Well, you may go," said the 
 man. "You needn't take the key, though. I'll let 
 ,' ou in when you return." 
 
 The dervish murmured an acknowledgment and
 
 158 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 moved swiftly toward the gate. To get out and go 
 to her, at any cost that, now, was what he must 
 do. He had learned all that was necessary at 
 Amad's. He could not see what he could accom- 
 plish by remaining here longer, though how to get 
 to her? He could not plan; he would have to de- 
 pend on doing what was best when the emergency 
 arose. But, primarily, he must leave that garden. 
 Perhaps this agitation against the Christians might 
 divert those who were seeking for him. Or 
 that turbulence might prove but an addi- 
 tional note of hazard. He didn't know how this 
 might be. The future would tell. 
 
 "Are you going to open?" 
 
 The servant had a key in his hand, but he took an 
 exasperatingly long time in fitting it in the ancient 
 lock. 
 
 "Patience! Now I have it," replied the man and 
 was about to turn the key and swing open the gate, 
 when from the rear of the house, a maid servant, 
 with covered face stepped rapidly toward them. 
 
 "The master wishes to see the new helper," she 
 announced, looking at the dervish.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 
 
 "~\ >"E?" For an instant the young man looked 
 _\ JL at the gate as if tempted to essay a forcible 
 egress, but there were bolts as well as locks to be 
 considered. "Why does he wish to see me?" 
 
 "That is not for me to say," she returned sharply. 
 "Go at once." 
 
 "And perhaps be discharged?" The dervish as- 
 sumed a lugubrious tone. 
 
 "As to that," said the woman who had been re- 
 garding him closely, "you need not fear. You seem 
 a likely enough fellow." 
 
 "Nevertheless" he was fighting for time, 
 though vainly, no doubt "I may not please him." 
 The words had a senseless sound, but what could he 
 say? He must play the part of half- fool. The man 
 servant might well esteem him that, in view of his 
 unbusinesslike proclivities. The dervish hoped so. 
 
 159
 
 i6o ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 He must rely on the man to come to his rescue 
 now for certainly he had no desire for an interview 
 with Amad at that moment. "See here," to the 
 man servant, "tell the most gracious master I've 
 gone on an errand, to get oats for Star of the 
 Desert. My head becomes confused sometimes in 
 the presence of my superiors, and when I am ques- 
 tioned about wages?" he ended significantly. 
 
 "Eh ?" said the man servant, starting in the least. 
 "Well, perhaps I could go and say " 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the kind," interrupted the 
 maid servant curtly. "As for you, my fine fellow," 
 to the young man, "fie on such modesty ! You look 
 as if you could hold your head up. Besides," re- 
 assuringly, "the master is feeling very amiable. He 
 has even given us little gifts, sweetmeats to cele- 
 brate with. Perhaps he may have a present for 
 you." 
 
 "Why," asked the dervish, "is he so amiable?" 
 
 "A man usually is, under the circumstances." She 
 was regarding him more favorably. Truly this new 
 servant was a handsome fellow, not very bright- 
 witted, but a woman can forgive that sometimes, 
 indeed, it is a merit in a man.
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 161 
 
 "What circumstances ?" the other asked as uncon- 
 cernedly as he could. 
 
 She toyed with her veil, lifting it a little as if in- 
 advertently. "It is the night before his wedding. 
 He is to be married to-morrow morning." 
 
 "To-morrow?" The dervish stood like a statue. 
 The miscreants had certainly expedited matters. 
 Amad meant to act quickly, to take no chances by 
 delay. "To-morrow!" the dervish repeated. What- 
 ever emotion this information may have caused him, 
 they could read no sign of it on his face. 
 
 "Yes, it is very romantic," went on the woman 
 servant. "You, of course, being a stranger, know 
 nothing pf the circumstances. He was married to 
 her before and divorced her. Then she married 
 another and that other divorced her, too. So now 
 she is free." The dervish had fathomed their 
 knavish plan correctly of course! "But come! Do 
 you not, also, wish him good fortune?" 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes; all the others have, or will, bend before 
 him and implore Allah's blessing on his head." 
 
 "It might not be so acceptable from me, not a 
 house-servant, only a stableman," muttered the
 
 162 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 dervish. She answered him more sharply, however, 
 and he followed her. He had to, for she would 
 not be put off. 
 
 What could Amad want with him? Flowers, 
 perhaps, for the morrow, from the garden? It 
 would be the dervish's business to cut them, to strew 
 the house with them, to transform it into a veritable 
 bower, in keeping with the joyous occasion. He 
 breathed hard a moment. But perhaps Amad had 
 sent for him for another reason. The rich diamond 
 merchant might have become suspicious of his new 
 assistant gardener. Amad had hunted the city over 
 for him in vain. Some inkling of how the dervish 
 had been cast up by the waters on the stone steps 
 leading from Amad's garden to the canal, might 
 have fallen from the man servant's lips during the 
 day. He had been with his master on his ride and 
 the two might have talked, or the master might have 
 questioned the man more closely. 
 
 As they walked toward the house, the woman 
 glanced once or twice at this handsome new servant 
 of Amad's. She stepped rather close to him as 
 they traversed the dim passageway but he appeared 
 quite unmindful of a tentative friendliness in her
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 163 
 
 manner. Even when at the head of the stairs she 
 suffered her veil to be swept aside to reveal her ripe 
 lips, he showed no interest. They might have been 
 the crimson painted lips of a china doll for any 
 temptation they had for him, and "Truly a stupid 
 fellow!" she murmured. Then pointing, "There is 
 the door," she observed. As if the dervish did not 
 know! He had been glad enough to pass out of it 
 safely once before that day. Would he be as for- 
 tunate on this occasion? 
 
 "Is he alone?" the dervish asked in a low voice. 
 His eyes had begun suddenly to glitter. 
 
 "I don't know. Sadi, the saddler, was with him. 
 I was to admit you when he left." 
 
 The saddler possibly still there! And Amad had 
 sent for the dervish! Ominous circumstance, or 
 coincidence. But very little seemed to matter now. 
 The dervish felt about as puissant as a babe. Amad 
 had worsted him. He was going to be married on 
 the morrow this fact kept repeating itself in the 
 dervish's brain. It stood out above all else. 
 
 "Wait!" said the woman, unmindful of the 
 other's preoccupation. "I will see if you may enter 
 now." And she went forward. He followed. A
 
 1 64 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 sound of low voices was heard. "We shall have to 
 stay here a moment or two," she went on in subdued 
 tones. "The master bade me fetch you when the 
 other three left. Sadi, the saddler, asked permission 
 to speak with him alone, and he granted it But 
 I didn't think he would let him take up so much of 
 his time, for the master isn't over-fond of poor 
 relatives. What can he have to say that is so inter- 
 esting?" 
 
 "Allah knows," muttered the dervish, though he, 
 too, had an idea, himself. 
 
 The woman looked at him more coquettishly. 
 Why not? Repression makes the Mohammedan 
 woman bold. Treated as a prisoner, with suspicion, 
 her wings are too often ready when opportunity is 
 kind. And this fellow's eyes, when she met them, 
 seemed now fairly to burn. What hidden fires ! She 
 did not realize that flame was essentially and unal- 
 terably non-amatory that it was disposed more to 
 blast than to caress. 
 
 "What nice eyes you have !" she murmured. Then 
 with a low laugh: "My eye!" It was a term of 
 Arab endearment. It meant: "Light of my eye," 
 or "One favored (for the moment) by my eye."
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 165 
 
 "Perhaps I'd better go down again," suggested 
 the dervish. He had not even noticed her crude 
 advances. 
 
 But she motioned the dervish to remain. "What 
 can keep the master so long? I heard him say he 
 would give the saddler but a minute " 
 
 "It must be important," again muttered the der- 
 vish. 
 
 She regarded him with a knowing smile. "Shall 
 we listen ?" her look said. A servant's prerogative ! 
 Or, at least, a house-servant's. They stole nearer. 
 
 "Why did you not speak of this sooner ?" Amad's 
 tense voice, within, was heard to say. 
 
 "I wished to make sure," Sadi answered. 
 
 "And now you are sure?" Incisively. 
 
 "Yes." There was triumph in the saddler's voice. 
 
 "Something he left behind him, when he went 
 so hurriedly last night, makes me so. Something 
 which dropped from the clothes he changed and 
 which was thrust with them under the settee in the 
 stiff eh!" 
 
 "You have it?" Quickly. 
 
 Sadi's reply was inaudible. They spoke in lower 
 tones now excitedly. Their accents were staccato,
 
 1 66 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 denoting keen interest, but what they said was still 
 unintelligible to the dervish. Were they examining 
 that "something" that had once been all in all 
 to him? Yet he had not even noticed its loss. His 
 mind must have been strongly engrossed otherwise. 
 Even now he felt an odd apathy that they should 
 have it though it represented a fortune, his all, and 
 he had left it behind him, in her house. The fact 
 didn't seem to matter so much, somehow. It seemed 
 so outweighed by more cogent extraneous circum- 
 stances. For some time only meaningless exclama- 
 tions and sounds came from within. The evil 
 wizened old face and the fanatical younger one were 
 in all likelihood bowed together over the "some- 
 thing." 
 
 "I remember a legend of an Englishman " they 
 heard Amad say in a rasping voice, but his other 
 words were lost. 
 
 "What are they talking about?" murmured the 
 woman at the dervish's side. 
 
 He shrugged. He felt no great concern over 
 Sadi's "discovery." A few days ago it would have 
 meant everything to him, but now an extra hazard 
 or two when his life was already forfeited! The
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 167 
 
 morrow that's what he was thinking of the ir- 
 revocable morrow! The bride might be wringing 
 her hands, but what could she do? The girl's 
 words came back to him with poignant significance. 
 There are worse things than death so that Sadi's 
 words, now heard, had almost a frivolous, unmean- 
 ing sound. 
 
 "I ran across him accidentally one day after dusk, 
 in our holy city of Mecca. He had his arm in a hole 
 in one of the enclosure walls of the mosque. He had 
 removed a few of the bricks. When he saw I had 
 discovered him, he made some excuse about a 
 miracle-hole, and of drawing virtue from the tomb 
 of a relative of the prophet on the other side, but I 
 learned there was' no tomb near. Then I remem- 
 bered the legend or story you speak of " 
 
 Sadi's satisfaction seemed painfully irrelevant to, 
 at least, one of the listeners. It was also pitifully 
 puerile. No doubt the saddler was mentally computr 
 ing a reward for services. What are rich relatives 
 for, except to bestow largess? And what better 
 time to impress a sense of obligation upon this one 
 than on the eve of his marriage? Besides, it is fine 
 to be rewarded for having accomplished something
 
 168 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY; 
 
 most gratifying unto yourself that you have long 
 striven to attain. It is like killing two birds with 
 one stone. Sadi served his own fanatical desires at 
 the same time he served Amad. He, no doubt, 
 pressed hard now his own importance on the latter. 
 If the rich diamond merchant had only seen fit to 
 have employed him (the saddler) in a certain delicate 
 mission, instead of that blundering dyer, what a deal 
 of fuss and bother would have been avoided ! 
 
 "I suspected at Light of Life's." The saddler 
 spoke complacently. "Had I been consulted but 
 then, at that late moment, what could I, without 
 authority, do? Besides, one should not speak upon 
 mere suspicion, however strong. What if I had 
 been in error? The law against slanderers is severe. 
 Sometimes they are beaten and there are both pris- 
 ons and fines for them, as a penalty. I who am a 
 poor man dared not risk " 
 
 "You have done well," interrupted the diamond 
 merchant, as if impatient of further explanation. 
 "At least, you are not a fool, like many others. And 
 no doubt you are right. This proof is conclusive. 
 To think of the insult to our sacred religion!" Ex- 
 plosively, "But that is neither here nor there now,"
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 169 
 
 he went on more calmly. "That idiot of a dyer tells 
 me you do not think the fellow is dead ?" 
 
 "What fellow ? Who can they be talking about ?" 
 breathed the woman servant in the dervish's ear. 
 She did not ask it as a question how could the 
 young man, a newcomer in that household, en- 
 lighten her? She was but voicing her own per- 
 plexities. 
 
 The dervish did not answer. Sadi's reply to the 
 diamond merchant was the same as he had made to 
 the dyer and the others, only he gave now more em- 
 phatically his reasons for his belief. 
 
 "I do not agree with you in this, for obvious rea- 
 sons." Amad snapped back. "Think of the reward 
 I offered for any information concerning him ! And 
 not one trace of him, living, has been found." 
 
 "Nor dead, either," said Sadi significantly. "The 
 water is swift, but he is strong. On the march, men 
 fell and camels, too, and the beggarly pilgrims 
 stripped the flesh from the bones of the beasts. But 
 he always had strength to go on." 
 
 "Tut! What an obstinate fellow you are!" cried 
 Amad angrily. "However, to entertain the impos- 
 sible as a probability "
 
 1 70 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 He murmured hastily some instructions. What 
 they were could not be heard. "A fit time, eh, if 
 your foolish surmise should prove true?" Amad 
 chuckled grimly. "He had better be dead than to 
 have the people know all this, now when they are 
 so aroused. It will be your business to acquaint 
 them with the facts. Let it once be known this 
 fellow has kissed the sacred black stone " 
 
 "And offered a goat for holy sacrifice at 
 Mecca " 
 
 "He dared do even that ?" Amad almost shouted. 
 A moment he was very vehement, religious indig- 
 nation superseding tender anticipations. The lover 
 was replaced by the bigot. 
 
 Outside the door the dervish listened with ap- 
 parent indifference. To the woman servant he was 
 a stoic, indeed ; a man without emotion or curiosity. 
 Her own face was eloquently expressive of bewil- 
 derment. She couldn't make head or tail out of all 
 this talk. She had caught "Death to the Chris- 
 tians!" "Meddlers! Interferers !" And then she 
 heard Amad in peremptory tones tell Sadi to go, 
 whereupon she herself retreated quickly. 
 
 The interview was at an end and she did not wish
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 171 
 
 to be detected eavesdropping. A moment later Sadi 
 appeared at the threshold. 
 
 "You had better go to the master now." The 
 woman servant again turned to the dervish. Sadi 
 had left the house. He had noticed the woman and 
 also her companion at the farther end of the dark 
 hall, but they appeared only as shadows to him, for 
 Amad wasted no candles or lanterns to light the 
 way, when his humbler friends and relations de- 
 parted from his august presence. Perhaps it af- 
 forded him malicious amusement to hear them 
 stumble a bit. He might even have been capable of 
 smiling, if one barked a shin on a kursi, or other 
 substantial article of furniture. So Sadi's footsteps 
 had receded in comparative and unostentatious 
 gloom, and the click of the bolt of the dubbeh, as 
 the pins of wood dropped into place, had announced 
 the closing and locking of the street door after him. 
 
 "I am ready." The dervish appeared, at last, 
 reconciled to the inevitable. He started once more 
 forward, when 
 
 "Remember your manners," spoke his mentor 
 sharply, "and what will be expected of you." She 
 was fast losing any concern she may have had for
 
 172 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 the fellow. Never was a mere stableman more 
 oblivious to his own interests. "As you enter pos- 
 ture and pray Allah to bestow upon him the delights 
 of paradise." 
 
 "Must I say that?" There was again that odd 
 glimmer in the dervish's eyes. 
 
 "Of course. Have you any objection?" 
 
 "Oh, no. It will give me much pleasure much !" 
 Then as if to charge his memory, "The delights of 
 paradise," he murmured queerly. She eyed him 
 disdainfully. A woman of the East does not like to 
 have her little attempts at flirtation pass completely 
 unmarked. 
 
 "Go, fool!" she said, and walked away herself. 
 She wasn't enough interested now even to remain 
 near for further eavesdropping. Yet had she lin- 
 gered, she would have been rewarded for her pains. 
 It was well for the dervish, though, that she didn't. 
 He watched her vanish before he stepped across the 
 threshold into the mandarah. 
 
 Amad looked up quickly at his entrance. The 
 oil lamps of the apartment gave a restful but not 
 a vividly illumining light. The dervish noted the 
 circumstance. Did Amad know him, and, if so, 
 would he recognize him in sober serving attire?
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 173 
 
 A sharp voice bade the dervish draw nearer and, 
 posturing low, he did so. In fact, he postured so 
 low, the diamond merchant could see little, or noth- 
 ing, of his face. "Delights of paradise! Delights 
 of paradise!" he murmured hoarsely. "Felicity! 
 Allah grant felicity! I am the new servant, may it 
 please the illustrious master." 
 
 The words seemed to content Amad; he had ap- 
 parently, with Sadi's going, set aside all tumultuous 
 thoughts. Upon a tray before him were many 
 jewels of wondrous size and beauty, and they now 
 occupied his attention agreeably. His keen eyes 
 were admiring them for their beauty and appraising 
 them for their value as he picked up a handful and 
 let them run through his fingers. Had he been 
 making a selection for his bride? How her youth 
 and loveliness would set off those beautiful emeralds 
 and diamonds! He would lavish gems upon her, 
 the better to enjoy them, and as she would belong 
 to him he would be none the poorer. Sometimes 
 he would bedeck her with pearls. It would depend 
 upon his mood. His wicked eyes were full of the 
 thought. The newcomer dared not meet them. 
 
 "Felicity !" he murmured, still posturing low, but 
 drawing nearer.
 
 174 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "I hear you." Approval appeared on Amad's face. 
 Here was a solicitous servant, and a most respectful 
 one, judging by the way he could bend his broad 
 back. "I sent for you to give you instructions for 
 the morrow. You " 
 
 "May Allah shower his blessings," interrupted 
 the dervish more fervently, but still nearer and bend- 
 ing ever lower. "Garlands of joy wreaths of " 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Amad impatiently. There was 
 such a thing as being over-congratulated. Still he 
 strove to be complaisant, in keeping with the happy 
 spirit of the occasion. 
 
 "I will even deliver verses and special prayers," 
 mumbled this new and most sedulous servitor. 
 "Verses and chapters, without number " 
 
 "I know that prayer is good," said Amad sharp- 
 ly, "and that it is good for servants to be pious in 
 their masters' behalf, but there are, also, many 
 practical matters to be attended to, and of these I 
 will speak. I desire you to see that many flowers " 
 
 It was to provide flowers, then, that he had been 
 summoned thither. Flowers for Amad's wedding- 
 day! The dervish was now close to the heavy in- 
 laid table behind which the merchant was seated.
 
 A VERY HOLY MAN 175 
 
 "Look up," commanded Amad imperiously, 
 "and listen." 
 
 The dervish did look up, but he, also, did more 
 than that He reached out and grasped the other, 
 stifling with an iron grip the yell about to issue 
 from the throat of the startled and amazed diamond 
 merchant. 
 
 "Keep quiet, or " There were no felicitations 
 in his tones now. The sharp point of a dagger 
 pricked Amad's skin and the latter's eyes blazed 
 with sudden recognition. Amad did know, then, 
 who he was. 
 
 "You !" he managed to murmur, murderous rage 
 and hate in his gaze. "What do you want?" 
 
 "That," said the young man, "you will soon 
 learn."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 
 
 HALF an hour later the dervish, at least out- 
 wardly calm and tranquil, returned to the 
 stable. The lean Damascus dog gave a low growl 
 as he entered and regarded him with red suspicious 
 eyes as if he felt all was not quite well, but the man, 
 his employer by proxy, only glanced at the dervish 
 inquiringly. "It was about the flowers," said the 
 latter carelessly. 
 
 "You had a pleasant interview?" 
 
 "Very." 
 
 "And left him in an amiable mood?" 
 
 "Hum? He was transported with joy." As he 
 spoke the dervish glanced quickly over his shoulder 
 toward the house. All was still there for the 
 moment. But any instant there might come 
 
 "Perhaps I, too, had better go and congratulate 
 the master," said the servant suddenly. 
 
 "I wouldn't." Hastily. "When he dismissed me 
 176
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 177 
 
 he remarked he had important papers to look over." 
 
 "Did you say anything about your wages?" 
 asked the man suspiciously. 
 
 "On my word, no." 
 
 "Did he give you anything?" Jealously. 
 
 "Only this." Showing a small box. "Sheereh 
 (Hashish)." 
 
 "Sheer eh?" Delighted. 
 
 "Of the best quality. Try some." The dervish 
 tried to speak unconcernedly, glancing again as if 
 casually toward the house. 
 
 "Later. I have work to do now." 
 
 "Defer it." A smiling invitation succeeded a sud- 
 den hard compression of the dervish's lips. 
 
 But the other declined, turning toward the stall 
 of Star of the Desert. An instant the dervish looked 
 down, then the pupils of his eyes changed in the 
 least, and with tread lithe as a panther, he stepped 
 after the stableman, when suddenly the dog again 
 growled. The man looked around. "Eh?" he said. 
 The lean creature was half standing, his hair 
 bristling, his red eyes on the dervish. The latter, 
 however, now stood with bent shoulders, his head 
 inclined over the box, the contents of which he ap-
 
 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 peared to be inhaling. His attitude was both in- 
 nocent and absorbed. 
 
 "U-um!" he murmured appreciatively. 
 
 "Is it so good?" 
 
 "Catch." Tossing the box to the other. The 
 fellow opened it and inhaled. Again the dervish 
 darted a look toward the house. The dog whined. 
 
 "Shut up," said the stableman to the dog. "Don't 
 know what's the matter with him. He's been uneasy 
 like that for some time." 
 
 "How'd you like it?" The dervish changed the 
 subject quickly, indicating the box. 
 
 "Nor porter's bast, that !" grunted the man with 
 approval. A moment he fingered the box, as if 
 tempted, while the dervish watched him steadily, 
 but he ended by extending the little receptacle once 
 more to the dervish. 
 
 The latter took it, concealing his disappointment. 
 "Got a water-pipe?" he said, as the stableman 
 started to groom the horse. 
 
 "Yes, over in the corner there." 
 
 The dervish walked to the place indicated and 
 brought forth a smoking outfit. He filled the bowl 
 of the water-pipe, and applied a coal from the bra-
 
 " Stifling with an iron grip the yell about to issue from 
 the throat of the diamond merchant"
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 179 
 
 zier. He didn't want to smoke; he wasn't inured 
 to this insidious oriental pastime, but he felt he had 
 no choice, so he puffed as superficially as possible, 
 blowing the smoke in the direction of his busy com- 
 panion. The latter continued at his task but grad- 
 ually his motions became more slothful and he 
 sniffed. Then, for a few moments his hand sus- 
 pended operations on the shining flank of the Star. 
 Would he never make up his mind to desist from 
 work and enjoy himself? The dervish waited, his 
 features masked with indifference, though feeling 
 the while like a man on the verge of a precipice. 
 He knew the effect of the smoke on users of the 
 drug and this man, he was sure, by his complexion 
 and other signs, had the habit. The stableman at 
 length turned around. 
 
 "Don't smoke it all," he said jestingly. 
 
 "There's one way of obviating that," answered 
 the dervish quickly, and held toward him the silver 
 and amber mouthpiece. The stableman took it and 
 breathed in. His face expressed no disappointment. 
 "By Allah! here's aroma!" he muttered. 
 
 "Go on," urged the dervish as the other would 
 have desisted.
 
 i8o ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 But the stableman gazed indecisively toward the 
 Star. "I'd better finish my work first." 
 
 "When the master told us to enjoy ourselves?" 
 
 "Did he say that?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "It is not like him." 
 
 "The occasion is most unusual." 
 
 "True; the night before his wedding!" The fel- 
 low yet seemed to vibrate, however, between duty 
 and pleasure, and inwardly the dervish anathema- 
 tized him. Every instant was precious; every frac- 
 tion of a second meant so much to him. Well, if 
 he wouldn't smoke ? The dervish got up and once 
 more moved toward the stableman, when again the 
 dog made a sound. The stableman turned to give 
 him a kick, and in doing so, swung some little dis- 
 tance from the dervish and facing him. "Doesn't act 
 as if he liked you," grunted the man. 
 
 "Yes, I've noticed that," returned the other with 
 a smile somewhat strained. 
 
 The stableman walked toward the door of the 
 stable. "Wait," he said. 
 
 "Where are you going?" 
 
 "To the house for another pipe. I've concluded
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 181 
 
 to take your advice. The work can wait on such a 
 night" 
 
 "But the household is asleep. Why should you 
 disturb them?" 
 
 "The women servants are always willing to wait 
 on a man. They esteem it is a privilege. At least," 
 grinning, "one of them will." 
 
 "Nevertheless, you are but putting yourself to 
 unnecessary trouble." As he spoke, the dervish 
 extended a detaining hand and touched the other's 
 sleeve. It was a hazardous expedient, with that 
 watchful sentinel of a dog just behind him, but the 
 dervish could not let this fellow go to the house. 
 It was the last thing he wished him to do. "One pipe 
 is surely enough for both," he went on with a sem- 
 blance of good fellowship. "So we can smoke in 
 more friendly fashion. You needn't be afraid of 
 my getting more than my share, for when it comes 
 to smoking, I've a weak head." 
 
 "Well, I've a strong one," boasted the other, and 
 sat down. "I learned the virtues of this stuff when 
 a sakka (seller of water)." 
 
 The stableman puffed at last, drawing the smoke- 
 deep down, while the dervish selected a position
 
 1 82 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 where he could see the house through the stable 
 window, over the other's shoulder. He divided his 
 attention between the man and the house. A flicker 
 of light passing before one of the dark windows at 
 the back of the dwelling was not calculated to re- 
 assure the young man. He breathed heavily. Some 
 servant going to bed? No coming down. He 
 listened closer but for the moment heard nothing 
 alarming. The great scrawny dog, too, seemed all 
 attention, sitting like a guardian gargoyle on his 
 haunches and focusing his uncannily bright eyes on 
 the dervish. His owner meanwhile appeared con- 
 tented enough, muttering new encomiums on the 
 mixture in the bowl of the pipe. 
 
 "Though I'm surprised the master should have 
 given you such," he added wonderingly. "Surely 
 it is the kind he reserves only for his guests?" 
 
 "As I told you the master is feeling most amiable. 
 He is going to give presents to us all on the mor- 
 row." 
 
 "Is he, indeed?" 
 
 "He especially mentioned you." 
 
 "He did?" Delighted. 
 
 "An 'old and valued servant', he called you."
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 183 
 
 "Not so very old in service here," put in the 
 other. "I haven't been with him but " 
 
 "I believe he said Valued', not 'old', come to 
 think of it." 
 
 "You seem a little mixed on what he did say," 
 observed the stableman suspiciously. 
 
 "Not at all. I" 
 
 "If I thought he didn't really give you this, but 
 that you" 
 
 "Took it? Now Allah forbid You forget I 
 came well recommended for honesty, that it was 
 you, yourself who " Laughing. 
 
 "Well, well !" grumbled the stableman. After all, 
 what did it matter? In every Mohammedan house- 
 hold peculation is practised by the servants and if 
 this fellow stole nothing more valuable than 
 hashish which he generously shared with ? A 
 door leading from the house into the garden at that 
 moment suddenly slammed. The dervish straight- 
 ened but the stableman did not seem to notice; no 
 doubt he thought some one was locking up; he 
 now reminded the dervish it was his turn. 
 
 "Not yet," said the latter protestingly. His man- 
 ner was airy, though between words he listened in-
 
 184 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 tently for any further sounds from the house. "As 
 I told you, I have a weak head, and " 
 
 But the stableman insisted. "I'll have no ibnees 
 (little boys) in my employ/' he observed jocosely 
 perhaps with a touch of malice, too. The drug af- 
 fects people differently, and in the stableman's eye, 
 behind that look of pleasure might be detected a 
 glint of truculence. At another time possible 
 belligerency on the fellow's part would have only 
 amused the dervish, but now, with that cursed de- 
 scendant of street dogs eying him with the con- 
 centrated sharpness bred by generations of thiev- 
 ing and hustling under difficulties, the dervish 
 felt as if he were being enmeshed in his own net. 
 That dog, under certain circumstances, would 
 arouse the household, if the household did not soon 
 arouse itself. 
 
 As he smoked, the dervish became aware he had 
 nerves in his finger-tips. Bees, too, began to buzz 
 in his head. Suddenly he stopped smoking. Foot- 
 steps coming from the house could be heard on the 
 gravel walk. 
 
 "Who can that be?" The dervish got up.
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 185 
 
 "Odd any one should come out here at this time," 
 said the stableman expectantly. 
 
 Fingers now fumbled at the latch of the barn 
 door, which, a moment later, swung back, revealing 
 the half -veiled features of the woman servant who 
 had shown the dervish into the presence of the dia- 
 mond merchant. 
 
 "I came to see if the master had gone forth on 
 the Star," she observed, looking toward the stall. 
 
 "Why do you come to see that?" asked the stable- 
 man. 
 
 "Because an orderly from the governor's staff 
 has been sent to consult with him. About this up- 
 rising against the Christians, no doubt. The master 
 is a member of the advisory cabinet, you know." 
 
 "He is not, then, in the mandarah?" said the 
 stableman. 
 
 "Apparently not. I knocked, and there was no 
 reply." Her eyes, as she spoke, turned to the der- 
 vish. Did they convey a question? Conscience 
 might have interpreted that look almost as a chal- 
 lenge. He had been last with the diamond mer- 
 chant.
 
 186 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 The dervish smiled. It was a very charming 
 smile. No one would have seen anything strained 
 or unnatural about it. "I believe the master did 
 say something about going out," he observed, as if 
 not quite sure of the point. 
 
 "On foot?" Incredulously. She stared at him. 
 Then the dark brows drew together. "He never 
 walks on the public streets." 
 
 "Never? Who shall say that on such a night as 
 this?" Twirling his fingers lightly. "Love upsets 
 all habits." 
 
 "Your wits are improving," she commented, ey- 
 ing him more sharply. "Perhaps you are not such 
 a fool" 
 
 "No, indeed." 
 
 "The master, too, may have smoked a little to 
 compose himself," suggested the stableman, "and 
 if you knocked louder " 
 
 She started to go. "Why such a hurry?" said 
 the dervish quickly, in what was intended to be a 
 very sweet and ingratiating tone. He observed that 
 the stableman now smoked as if he were going 
 through deep breathing exercises. His eyes were 
 beginning to shine brighter.
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 187 
 
 The woman tossed her head. "There's better 
 company for you," she said tartly, and pointed to 
 the dog. A moment later her sandals crunched once 
 more on the gravel. The dervish, with face still 
 turned toward the door and smile somewhat frozen, 
 waited. Would the woman take the stableman's 
 advice? Or would Amad be left to sleep in peace? 
 Something warm touched the young man's hand, 
 then was thrust into it. He looked down with sud- 
 den loathing. 
 
 "No, no!" To smoke now? It was impossible. 
 
 "Yes, yes." And the fellow meant it. His eyes 
 were very keen, a little surprised, too, as at the 
 abruptness of the other's refusal; they were also 
 more truculent. They said plainly: "Conviviality, 
 or fisticuffs ? Choose !" 
 
 The dervish hesitated. Every fiber in him re- 
 volted. He was about to choose, when the dog put 
 in a low growl. It turned the scale. Willy-nilly, 
 he accepted the convivial role. 
 
 The bees had come back. They hummed louder 
 than ever in the dervish's brain, though toward the 
 last he had merely pretended to smoke. How many 
 times had he and this fellow taken turns? The
 
 1 88 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 stableman's head rolled a little now on his shoul- 
 ders and his lips chanted rude love songs not too 
 delicate effusions that he had picked up near the 
 stands of the story-tellers. They had sunk in and 
 now they came out. Also he exhibited a disposition 
 to become maudlinly confidential. He even started 
 to speak of the master and his young bride; how it 
 was house gossip on one occasion that the latter 
 
 But the dervish did not hear; she, too, was in his 
 thoughts differently. The world seemed turning 
 around; it was a topsyturvy world. He hardly 
 saw the stableman now for the girl's face was be- 
 tween them. He distinguished it plainly in the 
 cloud of smoke, as he had seen it the last time. Now 
 it floated toward the ceiling, then it came nearer, 
 only to recede and vanish beyond in the darkness. 
 Behind that diaphanous bluish nebula, the Star of 
 the Desert occasionally attracted attention to him- 
 self by kicking. 
 
 "Your turn!" breathed a voice uncertainly. The 
 dervish caught himself up with a jerk, only to be- 
 come aware that the dog stood now squarely between 
 him and the man. That diabolical beast! It had 
 sinews like whip-cords; its mouth, through the
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 189 
 
 smoke, seemed to possess the gripping possibilities 
 of a steel trap. The stableman and it had changed 
 places. The man was the beast; the beast repre- 
 sented intelligence. It watched over him. Even 
 when he bestowed upon it now another forcible evi- 
 dence of his regard, as a matter of habit, it only 
 moved just beyond reach of the iron shod boot. This 
 common mangy canine of the gutters, almost as 
 big as a young heifer, appeared to have as many 
 watchful heads as that fabled quadruped of the in- 
 fernal regions. It was no mere cur any longer; it 
 looked like a super-cur. It inspired an enormous 
 respect. 
 
 The dervish tried to think, to marshal his ideas 
 more clearly and the moments slowly passed. Again 
 he bowed his head. He felt sleepy. The dog 
 seemed to regard this as a kind of truce and closed 
 one eye. Damascus dogs seldom sleep with both eyes 
 closed. It isn't healthy. 
 
 In the dervish's brain those busy bees seemed at 
 length to be folding their wings ; they were settling 
 on flowers in the coziest fashion bright red 
 flowers The stableman now leaned back while 
 little puffs of smoke came spasmodically from his
 
 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 lips; then the tube fell from his fingers, uncoiled 
 gently and stretched out like a thing of life at his 
 feet. He was in Elysium. Unseraphic snores is- 
 sued from his mouth and a caravan could have 
 passed over him without dissipating his dreams or 
 disturbing his bliss. 
 
 But the dervish neither saw nor heard him. He, 
 too, experienced a delightful lassitude. Peace after 
 storm! Tranquillity! Blissful lure of the senses! 
 Dreamtime! The girl, fair as a peri, at the portals 
 of paradise! But Amad? what had become of 
 him? He had seized him and what was that 
 noise ? 
 
 In his stall the Star kicked loudly and the dervish, 
 with a herculean effort, staggered to his feet. He 
 had to throw off that lassitude, to rise above it. The 
 dog, too, got up and each looked at the other a mo- 
 ment. Then the dervish went to the window and 
 opened it. His head reeled but the fresh air re- 
 vived him a little and he drew in great draughts. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a sound from the house like 
 a pounding or beating on the floor and some one 
 calling out. That might be fancy, or it might be 
 the woman servant again at the door of the man-
 
 MENACING MOMENTS 191 
 
 darah, knocking louder this time. Or it may have 
 come from the front. In that case, another caller! 
 He turned toward the snoring stableman, to stoop 
 over him, but suddenly stopped. The devil was to 
 pay in earnest! Some one surely could be heard 
 calling shrilly now the woman who had been to the 
 barn ? Exclamations, waitings, shouts soon followed. 
 Lights flashed at the windows. He had stayed too 
 long. The dervish straightened and his hand 
 grasped the heavy iron shears he had been using 
 that afternoon. The super-cur saw. Certainly it 
 had the sporting instinct. It had waited for the 
 man to make the first move. But now it sprang.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 CAPTIVE 
 
 A one of the latticed windows of Light of 
 Life's home the young girl, a little while 
 later, stood looking out into the night. She was 
 as much captive as if the aga of police had ordered 
 her into custody. Light of Life trusted her now 
 less than ever and would guard her charge most 
 closely until the morrow. After that, it would be 
 Amad's turn again. "And little do I envy him the 
 task !" the stepmother had said to the girl. "Shame- 
 less one that you are!" The other's dark eyes had 
 smoldered, -but she made no reply. She received 
 Light of Life's alternate sighs and invectives con- 
 cerning her conduct alike with scornful indifference. 
 Her face now was pale, but there was still that 
 smoldering light in her eyes. She walked from the 
 lattice restlessly, then returned to it. The dis- 
 creetly guarded opening looked out into the street. 
 Any one gazing from it had a restricted view of 
 
 192
 
 She was as much captive as if the agha of police had 
 ordered her into custody " 
 
 \
 
 CAPTIVE 193 
 
 the world, about half a block or so of narrow thor- 
 oughfare and an equally curtailed vision of the 
 heavens. The sky wore a peculiar aspect ; the clouds 
 had a sickly yellowish hue which did not come from 
 the moon, or the constellations above. Nowhere 
 in the world are the stars brighter, but to-night 
 there were no stars. Sometimes scurrying feet dis- 
 turbed the stillness; again there were distant rat-a- 
 tat sounds from afar, but to these the girl listened 
 with odd apathy. Though the heavens might fall, 
 Amad and Light of Life would not be turned from 
 their purpose. How fast the hours went ! The little 
 clock in a recess of the room showed the night well 
 advanced, yet she had no desire to sleep. Her hand 
 lifted and touched something hard in the bosom of 
 her dress, a small vial. Well, Syrian poisons act 
 quickly. She wished Amad much joy of his bar- 
 gain. She could fancy his and Light of Life's con- 
 cern. Perhaps that last person wouldn't get her 
 commission. That would be funny. The old dia- 
 mond merchant had the reputation of being penu- 
 rious at times. 
 
 "Still up?" One of the subjects of her thoughts 
 had noiselessly entered the room and Light of Life
 
 194 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 regarded the girl sourly. "You should retire, so as 
 to look well for the morrow." 
 
 Look well! That, too, struck the girl as funny. 
 "Why should I look well?" she asked, with that 
 expression in the dark eyes which the elder woman 
 did not like; it was an expression that, indeed, in- 
 furiated her. 
 
 "For your wedding, of course. A girl usually 
 wants to look well on her wedding-day." 
 
 "But to-morrow isn't going to be my wedding- 
 day." 
 
 "Isn't it? Why not?" 
 
 The girl was silent, though she could feel the 
 other's eyes on her, keenly, curiously. Light of 
 Life knew how difficult it was to handle the per- 
 verse minx. What was in her mind now? What 
 would she not give to break that obstinate temper, 
 to bend the other to her will? "Why not?" the 
 elder woman repeated challengingly. "Do you hope 
 to draw a dagger again as you did before, brazen 
 that you are!" 
 
 "Do you call that brazen?" laughed the girl. But 
 it was not a gay infectious laugh. "You have no 
 right to attempt to force me to this. You can not 
 marry me again to that horrible old man. You de-
 
 CAPTIVE 195 
 
 ceived me lied to me before, but now? I was 
 never his wife; I never will be. It is inconceivable 
 impossible! Besides, you can not do it, because 
 I am still a wife. That that mustahall did not 
 divorce me." 
 
 "Oh, yes, he did," said Light of Life sweetly. 
 
 "I don't believe it." 
 
 "We have the affidavits of four persons who 
 heard him." 
 
 "Affidavits! Lies, you mean." So that was how 
 they would overcome the difficulty. The dervish 
 might not really be dead, then; he might reappear. 
 There was a chance ; and these people would take no 
 chances. 
 
 "Take care how you impugn the word of four 
 honest men," said Light of Life severely. 
 
 "Honest men ? Friends of Amad, no doubt, and 
 of yours!" A little wildly. 
 
 "And if so?" Darkly. 
 
 "Perjurers !" 
 
 "You do not know what you are saying," Light of 
 Life answered with an accent of contempt. "There- 
 fore I overlook it. You are young and foolish, as 
 well as headstrong and reckless. Fortunately, you 
 have others to guide you."
 
 196 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "You who have always hated me!" 
 
 "Have a care!" 
 
 "Though why ? Unless it is because my mother 
 was a Christian and I, as a child, was brought up 
 in a little mission!" 
 
 "Do not speak of it ! Luckily, we rescued you in 
 time." 
 
 "Would you had left me there," said the girl 
 bitterly. 
 
 "This, to me, who have ever shown you a 
 mother's care? This, my reward? Well, Allah 
 will repay." 
 
 "Allah! You mean Amad," laughed the girl. 
 
 "Impudent jade!" Light of Life was losing her 
 temper in earnest; she could have struck those 
 laughing flower-like lips. "It is most generous of 
 him to take you back at all." 
 
 "I will dispense with his generosity," said Fatma 
 in the same tone. 
 
 "To take you back at all," repeated Light of Life, 
 "after your shall I say immoral conduct? Your 
 meeting this shameless vagabond alone like that! 
 Had you no regard for your reputation?" 
 
 "Was he not my husband ?" again laughed the girl.
 
 CAPTIVE 197 
 
 Oh, those red defiant lips ! How Light of Life hated 
 them ! "You picked him out. Or Amad did." Her 
 merriment was strange, unnatural. 
 
 "Such language! I believe you were taken with 
 him this handsome vagabond from nowhere ! Oh, 
 you should blush. I blush for you." 
 
 "You!" said the girl in the same tone. "You!" 
 
 Light of Life looked at the girl sharply. Had 
 some of her own servants been gossiping? Had 
 they whispered how she had, on one or two occa- 
 sions, shed the light of her condescension in surrep- 
 titious quarters? The elder changed the subject. 
 
 "Well, he is dead," she murmured with satisfac- 
 tion. "This beggar who has made all the trouble !" 
 
 "Dead ? Then how could he have divorced me ?" 
 Light of Life pressed her thin lips together. She 
 had been caught in a trap. "How could they have 
 made the affidavits ?" 
 
 "It is sufficient we have them," retorted the elder 
 woman. "He he was killed afterward. By some 
 native Christians," she added. 
 
 The dark eyes only answered. Their mirthless 
 mirth alone replied. The girl might well believe he 
 was dead, but not "afterward." Again she stood at
 
 198 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 the casement and heard the sibilant seething of dark 
 waters. Again she saw the handsome reckless face 
 of this vagabond husband of hers just before A 
 sudden rush of color came to her face. Her eyes 
 suddenly flashed. How often had she lived over that 
 last mad moment ! But he had paid paid the pre- 
 sumptuous fellow! Was she glad? The color re- 
 ceded and left her paler than before. At least, he 
 was brave. The fire died completely out of the dark 
 eyes and left them dreamy. At that moment they 
 were very soulful, young and poetic eyes. He had 
 leaped to his death with a laugh 
 
 Below came a knocking at the gate leading into 
 the court. 
 
 "Who can that be, at this late hour?" Light of 
 Life turned. Perhaps she was not sorry to terminate 
 the interview. "Some message pertaining to to- 
 morrow, no doubt ! I shall see," she added and left 
 the room. 
 
 The girl gazed mechanically down into the street 
 before the house. "A message pertaining to the 
 morrow." What interest could it, or the messenger, 
 have for her? Vaguely in the dim light she dis- 
 cerned the figure of a horseman. His mount seemed
 
 CAPTIVE 199 
 
 nervous and struck impatiently at the stones 
 with his hoofs, so that she saw a spark or two fly. 
 The man, also, showed impatience and knocked 
 again in more peremptory fashion, whereupon the 
 sleepy boiwvab, grumbling about people who came 
 at unseemly hours, opened the gate. The horseman 
 thrust out an arm; the light from the lattice fell on 
 it and on something white which he held toward the 
 displeased Abyssinian. 
 
 "A message from Amad Ahl-Masr," said the 
 horseman gruffly. "To be delivered at once! Not 
 an instant's delay! My master says it is most im- 
 portant." 
 
 The bowwab answered in more respectful tones 
 and took the message, upon which the rider spoke to 
 his horse, wheeled and dashed away. The girl 
 watched him disappear, and the bowwab again 
 locked the gate. She could hear his shuffling steps 
 crossing the court, then the rather noisy slap, slap 
 of his slippers on the stairs. He had been aroused 
 from slumber himself and he didn't care how many 
 others of the sleeping household he disturbed. Light 
 of Life awaited his coming at the head of the stairs. 
 
 "From Amad Ahl-Masr ? Why should he be writ-
 
 ing so late? Nothing has happened I trust," the girl 
 heard her say. 
 
 Then slap, slap ! The slippers were descending the 
 stairs and the bowwab returned to his hard bed of 
 burlap near the gate. The girl as from a great, 
 great distance, now caught the crackling of paper in 
 the adjoining room. Then silence followed. Silence 
 of considerable duration. Light of Life had opened 
 and was reading the message. Still the other felt not 
 the slightest concern in its contents. She wished 
 only to be left alone. But even this wish was not to 
 be granted. There was a louder rustling in the next 
 apartment, the door was thrown open and Light of 
 Life again entered or this time, she fairly rushed 
 in. Something obviously had happened. She held 
 the message in her hand and the paper shook, while 
 consternation was written on her sallow and unpre- 
 possessing countenance. 
 
 "Get ready to leave the house at once." 
 
 The girl looked at her. "Why at once?" she said. 
 
 "Why? Read." And Light of Life thrust the 
 message before her. 
 
 The girl scanned it.
 
 CAPTIVE 201 
 
 "Have just learned the Christian quarter will be 
 fired to-night As your house is near, the danger 
 is great. Leave at once with your daughter for my 
 residence. The wedding can take place here. I 
 am making all arrangements for it and for the re- 
 ception of yourselves and as many servants as you 
 may choose for your escort." 
 
 After this, a big blotch of red sealing-wax and 
 the imprint of a great seal. 
 
 "His seal," murmured Light of Life. "Do I not 
 know it? He keeps it in his big safe. But the post- 
 script read that." 
 
 It expressed greater perturbation on the part of 
 the writer: 
 
 "In the name of Allah, lose not a moment." 
 
 "There ! What do you think of that ?" said Light 
 of Life. 
 
 "I think that he is old and nervous," replied the 
 girl scornfully. "I don't believe there is any dan- 
 ger." 
 
 "He is prudent, and in a position to know," 
 snapped the other. 
 
 "If you are afraid, do you go and leave me." The
 
 202 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 girl's eyes lighted with a faint spark of hope, but 
 Light of Life didn't answer. 
 
 The latter struck a gong; a woman servant ap- 
 peared, and to her the mistress of the house gave 
 hurried orders in a voice which fear dominated. The 
 servant listened attentively, bowed and went. 
 
 Soon from below in the court came the sound of 
 horses' hoofs. Nags, donkeys and asses had been 
 hurriedly pressed into service. Bundles were brought 
 from the house while servants jabbered ; one or two 
 swore. The great bowwdb wasted many words ; he 
 was like a giant child superintending the details of 
 this hurried departure. 
 
 "Come," now said Light of Life authoritatively 
 to the girl. That tone meant "no nonsense !" 
 
 "You will not go and leave me?" suggested the 
 other almost gently. "I have no fear of what may 
 happen here." 
 
 "Will you come, or ?" Light of Life's tones 
 became menacing. She would waste no more time. 
 
 The shapely shoulders of the girl lifted. She 
 knew she had no alternative. They would take her, 
 willy-nilly. If she held back they would provide for 
 her the hodag, or closed litter. The giant bowwab
 
 CAPTIVE 203 
 
 might, in that case, be her personal attendant. She 
 had no choice, indeed. She must go, or her hand 
 reached to her breast. Yet she delayed a little. She 
 would start with them. Yes ; she could do that. An 
 enigmatic expression played around the sweet fresh 
 lips. She felt distinctly how distinctly ! something 
 cold and hard against her warm young breast. She 
 liked to feel it. It reassured her, and with a smile 
 she followed the elder woman from the room.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE CAVALCADE 
 
 THEY rode forth, an imposing enough caval- 
 cade, the girl at her stepmother's side, well 
 toward the front, not because she wished to ride 
 there, but because the other had indicated her desires 
 in this regard. The dusky bowwdb commanded the 
 outriders and was prepared to shout to any who 
 might get in their way. But the street before them 
 was fairly deserted. His mistress had selected a 
 roundabout route, remote from the Christian quar- 
 ter, in order to incur no unnecessary risks. Gazing 
 back, however, after they had galloped on some little 
 distance, Light of Life noted that a number of per- 
 sons had arrived in the vicinity of the domicil they 
 had so recently left. She could not make out the fig- 
 ures of these people they were too far away but 
 she saw that they carried shealehs, or watchmen's 
 torches. Moreover the night breeze seemed to waft 
 
 204 .
 
 THE CAVALCADE 205 
 
 to her the sound of excited voices. That might be 
 only perturbed fancy, but they had certainly stopped 
 at, or near, her house. A dire possibility assumed the 
 dimensions of a startling conclusion. Light of Life's 
 nerves weren't any too strong at the moment. 
 
 These people might have come there because it had 
 been rumored that the girl's own mother had been 
 a Christian, and that she, the child, when very young, 
 had imbibed the foul heresies. The elder woman had 
 been through one "holy massacre," and she knew 
 that on the last memorable and terrible occasion, 
 some not Christians, had been too quickly dealt with 
 by the frenzied devotees. She gave, therefore, the 
 order to make all haste. The sooner they were at the 
 diamond merchant's house, the better. 
 
 The girl by her side heard and smiled. How 
 puerile the other's apprehensions seemed to her at 
 that moment! Her own horse being a poor one 
 had Light of Life designedly seen to that? now 
 fell back a little. Light of Life did not notice this 
 fact, however ; she was too concerned with her own 
 fears, and quickly the girl glanced around her. But 
 any slight hope she may have had of being able to 
 escape was quickly shattered. She was well guarded.
 
 206 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 Before and behind her were servants who, doubt- 
 lessly, had been carefully instructed. It would be 
 foolish for her to attempt to get away. She would 
 only make herself ridiculous before all these serving 
 men and the others. Already one of the former 
 pressed closer to her side. This was going rather 
 far, for servants, according to the punctilious code 
 of Moslem etiquette, are not supposed to ride by the 
 side of their young mistresses. They were treating 
 her as a criminal might expect to be treated. She 
 forbore, nevertheless, to speak reprovingly to this 
 forward one of her guards ; to do so would be only 
 to lower herself. She proudly refused even to 
 look at him. After all, what did it matter? The 
 ride would soon be over and she had made up her 
 mind never again to enter Amad's house. 
 
 Furtively her hand sought her breast. The fel- 
 low was riding very close now. A single motion of 
 the arm, however, and it would make very little 
 difference whether any of the guard were far or 
 near. Yet still she hesitated, fingering the vial. 
 Once it had held delicate perfume. How different 
 its contents now ! She started to draw it forth, when 
 the horse of the guard who had just annoyed
 
 THE CAVALCADE 207 
 
 her by pressing too close, now brushed her own 
 mount. 
 
 "Pardon," the fellow muttered in a low hoarse 
 voice. 
 
 The girl's hand fell to her side. She was half 
 mindful to reprove this overzealous one of her 
 escort, only if she did, he might answer he served 
 Light of Life, not her; that the older woman was 
 his mistress. Better endure; it could not be for 
 long. So she did not speak or look at him. She still 
 professed to seem unaware of his presence. Though 
 his careless or unmannerly action had deferred her 
 purpose, she yet held the vial. Her fingers contin- 
 ued to retain it, even when her hand had dropped. 
 It lay hard and reassuring in her palm and gave her 
 courage. With it she could defy them all. There 
 was one way to escape. They couldn't prevent it. 
 She could laugh at bars and locks and chains and 
 Light of Life and Amad, that horrible old satyr 
 
 An odd exhilaration seemed now to uplift her; 
 her spirit felt free as the wind. One, a poor beggar, 
 had paid for his fealty to her. Well, she regretted 
 only that. At the instant, she forgot her resentment 
 toward him, remembering only his service. The
 
 208 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 dark eyes were dreamy, lustrous. She might have 
 been riding through space, for these people around 
 were nothing to her. They were but shadows. The 
 red curving young lips wore a smile. Any one to 
 look at her would have said: "How happy this 
 bride ! She must be thinking of the bridegroom." 
 
 For some time they rode thus and she bethought 
 herself once more of her purpose when again that 
 mettlesome horse of the presumptuous guard, dis- 
 turbed perhaps by unwonted sounds from the dis- 
 tance, became slightly unmanageable and touched 
 for the second her own spiritless nag. She might 
 scarcely have noticed it, but at the same instant a 
 hand grasped and distinctly pressed her arm. In- 
 tentionally? The fellow's ringers were loosened in 
 a moment. In the dark no one could have seen the 
 quick motion. 
 
 "Pardon !" again came the low hoarse voice. 
 
 But in the girl's face there was no "pardon." At 
 that over-familiar, insolent touch, the vial, in her 
 surprise, had fallen from her fingers. It had fallen 
 to the earth, and, perhaps, had been broken. At any 
 rate it was gone beyond recall. She could not stop 
 and turn back to get it. Her most precious posses-
 
 THE CAVALCADE 209 
 
 sion was lost. Her face flamed with passionate 
 anger against him this insulting and blundering 
 domestic who had robbed her of it. She looked 
 at him with flashing eyes. 
 
 "How dared you?" she breathed in choked 
 tones. Her pride was in arms. She could have 
 struck him with her riding-whip. 
 
 It is probable that he and he alone heard, but 
 he did not answer. His face was half turned from 
 her and he seemed impervious to his offense. He 
 was tall and rode superbly. This fact dawned on 
 her and surprised her; ordinary household servants 
 do not ride like that. Moreover, his mount was 
 splendid. An impression of something familiar 
 about the rider gradually crept over her. She could 
 not see him very well, in that dim light, but the 
 horse, she now made sure was Star of the Desert. 
 
 The fellow, then, must be from Amad's. The 
 others of the escort who had noted him must have 
 concluded likewise. What more natural than that 
 the diamond merchant should send a servant, or a 
 representative, to meet Light of Life and her 
 charge on this occasion? Perhaps he was the mes- 
 senger? But that person had ridden away. This
 
 fellow, then, could not be the messenger, unless he 
 had drawn rein and waited at some street corner for 
 the party to pass. But Amad's messenger surely 
 would not have done that. There would be no rea- 
 son for his so doing. He would have stayed at 
 Light of Life's house if his instructions had been to 
 make one of this hasty prenuptial procession. He 
 
 At that moment the fellow turned his face fully 
 toward her. He did so just when a flicker of light 
 from one of the few grudging street-lamps could 
 pass over his features. 
 
 "Do not seem surprised " he whispered. 
 
 A sharp exclamation, however, fell from the girl's 
 lips. She could not help it. Her mood had been 
 tense and strained and she felt as if she were look- 
 ing at a ghost. She stared almost helplessly at the 
 face; then it receded and darkness claimed it. The 
 rider had quietly dropped back. Light of Life 
 looked around. 
 
 "In Allah's name, what is it?" 
 
 "My my horse stumbled." 
 
 "Only that?" Doubtingly. 
 
 "I I thought I should be thrown. It is a poor 
 beast."
 
 THE CAVALCADE 211 
 
 "Humph ! The horse is well enough. You should 
 learn to ride better than that. Keep with me." 
 
 The girl was obliged to do so. Light of Life now 
 gazed suspiciously back. At first she noticed noth- 
 ing unusual. Her escort came clattering behind 
 numerically reassuring. The fellow who had be- 
 haved so rudely to her charge was only one among 
 many. Light of Life did not pause to count the 
 members of her party. She had no time for mathe- 
 matical calculations. She looked at the fellow or 
 the indistinct outline that was he, and might be any 
 one and then beyond him, when her gaze was 
 abruptly arrested. Farther down the road appeared 
 lights people riding after them. Light of Life 
 conceived this as a just cause for alarm. These 
 might be the persons who had paused before her 
 house. They might be intent now on overtaking her 
 and her party, so she gave the command to push on 
 faster than ever. Fortunately they were drawing 
 near the diamond merchant's home and once within 
 that palatial abode Light of Life's party would be 
 as safe as in a fortress. 
 
 He, who had so startled the young girl, saw, also, 
 those people coming after them. He shared Light
 
 212 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 of Life's opinion, too, that they were trying to over- 
 take them, but not for the reasons that estimable 
 lady attributed to them. Riding now at the rear of 
 the party, the young man looked back to survey their 
 pursuers intently. An expression of grim amuse- 
 ment came to his face, though his heart-beat pound- 
 ed. What a dear, superlatively comic old lady his 
 mother-in-law could be on occasion! How she was 
 whacking the ribs of her noble steed! And these 
 other members of her escort, how some of them 
 were whacking! Asses, donkeys and nags bobbed 
 up and down in most ludicrous fashion. 
 
 That tragic ghost of a smile faded, however, from 
 the young man's features. "He laughs best who 
 laughs last." And Light of Life's turn might come. 
 Indeed, it seemed as if it would come very soon. 
 Already before them, he could see the lights of 
 Amad's dwelling. The upper floors were all illu- 
 mined ; the windows shone as if a fete were in prog- 
 ress. But a single intervening street separated them 
 now from the great house their destination. The 
 end was near; it appeared inevitable. 
 
 Nearer to Amad's house ! Nearer ! The young 
 man looked toward the girl. He could hardly see
 
 THE CAVALCADE 213 
 
 her for the intervening figures, and pressed suddenly 
 forward, drawing his cloak up about the lower 
 part of his face. So a Mohammedan protects his 
 mouth and nostrils when the night air is cold. Pass- 
 ers-by, thus muffled, can hardly be told for friend 
 or foe. He was now close behind the young girl, 
 who had fallen back a little whether by accident or 
 design, he could not tell and, under pretext that his 
 horse was again unmanageable, he pressed directly 
 in front of her. He was then between her and Light 
 of Life. That person looked at him; she saw but 
 the steady cold eyes. She saw the girl, near enough. 
 She saw the house of Amad, reassuringly close. So 
 she said nothing; she only gave her horse another 
 whack. 
 
 Clatter! clatter! A donkey sang. Awful mel- 
 ody! Behind them now some of the escort were 
 calling out. What were they saying? That those 
 coming after were friends sent by Amad? Im- 
 possible ! 
 
 Bewildered, Light of Life looked around. At the 
 same moment, the young man, now riding at the 
 girl's side, bent toward her and said something. 
 Again louder voices from behind. Confusion!
 
 _'i4 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 There had been "no need for their leaving the 
 house?" What was that? Who was yelling? That 
 awful donkey! More ear-splitting music! The 
 evil one take the beast! Why did it choose this 
 psychological moment for its stentorian vocal per- 
 formance? Was it jealous of the row the others 
 were making? Did it desire to show that its lung- 
 power could dominate all creation? 
 
 The foremost of those following seemed to have 
 come up and mingled with the van of Light of Life's 
 party. It was like the meeting of two lively, con- 
 verging currents, producing at the point of contact 
 a turbulent and up-tossing eddy. Now they were at 
 the cross street. Amad's house, yawning with eager 
 and evil hospitality, loomed almost before them, 
 when the young man again said something to the 
 girl. At that low, tense, yet supplicating command 
 the slender figure swayed toward him and the next 
 moment she was swept from her horse and on his. 
 Light of Life saw and threw up her hands. 
 
 The Star sped down the cross-road. The last 
 glimpse the dervish had of his mother-in-law she 
 was waving her arms like an animated scarecrow. 
 She may have been screaming, too, but if so, he did
 
 THE CAVALCADE 215 
 
 not hear it for all the other noise and clatter. Some 
 of the escort came after them, but futilely; the Star 
 was now a shooting star for velocity. 
 
 "Delight of my soul," the young man muttered 
 to the horse, of course, for thus do Arabs speak to 
 their equine friends. The "delight" tossed his kingly 
 head and sped on. It was not a race, but a walk- 
 away.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 VARYING FORTUNES 
 
 TO the dervish it was more than that. It was 
 something unreal, unbelievable. He could 
 hardly credit his own good fortune. It had all been 
 too easy. It was almost as easy as magic as some 
 deed of the magical youth on the magical horse, in 
 one of the magical tales, eighty-three or thirty-eight 
 of the Elf Leyleh. In that astonishing story the 
 young man on the magical horse had but to speak to 
 the beast and tell it to fly and straightway they had 
 gone hurtling through the air to the palace of en- 
 chantment, set on a mountainside. 
 
 But the dervish couldn't quite do that ; he couldn't 
 turn a quadruped into a biplane. He couldn't even 
 transform a quadruped into a quadruplane. He 
 didn't possess the old wizard's art. So he did the 
 next best thing. He urged the Star along as best he 
 might on terra firma. And for a mere, ordinary, 
 
 216
 
 VARYING FORTUNES 217 
 
 mortal, young man his satisfaction or elation was 
 quite sufficient. 
 
 A few days ago he would have scoffed at the pre- 
 posterousness of it all. He carry off a young lady ? 
 Absurd ! Yet here he was doing it, and yes, there 
 was no doubt about it doing it with eagerness and 
 zest. More than that, he felt a subtle intoxication 
 stealing over him. He strove to fight it off. He 
 told himself it didn't exist. But it did and he began 
 to realize it. He stole a look at her. By Allah ! how 
 beautiful she was. He had almost forgotten how 
 beautiful. He held her close. It wouldn't do to let 
 her fall. That was the excuse he put to himself. 
 It would be an awful faux pas to do that. But he 
 knew he wanted to hold her close, that he liked to. 
 And what was this sensation? Electricity, or felic- 
 ity? The former, of course. He looked at her 
 more frequently, perhaps because he couldn't help it, 
 just letting the Star go. The present the present- 
 that's what concerned him. He was surprised it was 
 so. Greatly ! 
 
 A lock of her hair made a playground of his 
 cheek; it danced around like an elf of mischief. 
 Her breath almost mingled with his. Divine
 
 2i8 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 warmth! He had to hold back words. He felt a 
 mighty ebullition seething within him. It was diffi- 
 cult to keep it in check. He was not he. In love ? 
 Not at all. It could not be. Oh, no ! 
 
 And yet, strangely enough, at this very moment, 
 he discovered he didn't want to lose her now. He 
 didn't wish ever to let her go. The realization came 
 to him like a blow no, a bitter-sweet one. She was 
 dear to him inexpressibly. That was it. She was 
 as sweet as the flowers, as lovely as a star. Similes 
 smote him. He was amazed. If he could only just 
 say something, and yield to this amazing emotion. 
 He was no longer an automaton, a puppet, a figure 
 in a farce. He was real and she was real. She was 
 not distant either, something hardly to be touched, 
 a mere "proposition." She was near and for the 
 moment she seemed to belong to him. He could, 
 at least, imagine it was so ; he wished it were ; that 
 she were his, not just for a little while, but for 
 always as long as the suns and stars continued to 
 whirl. There ! He had said it to himself, anyway. 
 He had put his head in the golden yoke, or was it 
 an iron one that would chafe? 
 
 He rode on in a glamour. He was not merely car-
 
 VARYING FORTUNES 219 
 
 tying her off. He was undergoing a kind of miracle 
 process, rediscovering himself, as it were. This 
 ride was certainly bringing matters to a focus. It 
 was concentrating a myriad scattered emotions into 
 one big emotion, or single shaft of inner light, the 
 way a magnify ing-glass gathers up the sunbeams 
 into one bright burning disk, which is sometimes 
 rather scorching, too. He felt that scorching touch 
 now. All was not altogether sweet. What caused 
 that bitter with the sweet? 
 
 Amad ! He looked into the young face, with the 
 long lashes and sweet proud lips. That past ! He 
 would have blotted it out, if he could. But it ex- 
 isted, irrevocably. His face became set and very 
 stern. He was jealous, and he knew it. She would 
 never have belonged to that other. It was all wrong. 
 Nothing could make it right. Nature herself cried 
 out against it. Just then they came to an open mar- 
 ket place. The girl stirred. 
 
 "You were that messenger?" 
 
 "Yes." He spoke almost bruskly. Was he 
 angry at himself for discovering in himself this new 
 and extraordinary capacity to mix in other people's 
 affairs and make them an intimate part of his own
 
 220 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 being? Was he annoyed that he couldn't merely 
 shrug his shoulders, say it was all none of his busi- 
 ness and let it go at that ? She looked at him won- 
 deringly but he did not explain further. He hated 
 explanations. Again she stirred. Now that they 
 were standing still, that close personal propinquity 
 seemed, perhaps, more marked. He forgot not to 
 hold her quite so closely, that it was hardly neces- 
 sary now. 
 
 "Where are we going?" Slight constraint in the 
 girl's tones! 
 
 "Where?" He started. Where, indeed? Here 
 he had just been riding on with very little thought of 
 what would happen. He had merely been enjoying 
 himself; no, not exactly that. There were too many 
 thorns on this rose d 'amour that had blossomed and 
 bloomed in his soul, or brain, or breast, or some- 
 where. 
 
 "We can't go on like this. They know the Star." 
 He spoke half to her; half to himself. "Better get 
 down here; good place to consider." 
 
 His thoughts were in a whirl, as he helped her 
 down. Near by were camel stalls. He led the way
 
 VARYING FORTUNES 221 
 
 to one and fastened the Star to a ring in the wall. 
 At least the place offered a temporary refuge. 
 
 "Do you see anything of them?" she asked, look- 
 ing back. 
 
 "No. We're safe enough for now." 
 
 He felt a new constraint. The situation was 
 anomalous. What were they doing here, anyway? 
 His heart was still beating fast. 
 
 "Rather ridiculous to come back like this, after 
 having parted forever, eh?" he remarked. 
 
 She looked at him but made no reply. What enig- 
 matic eyes ! Apathy on her part. At least, it seemed 
 like apathy. 
 
 He experienced an odd irresolution. Confound 
 it, she acted just as if being carried off like this was 
 but an ordinary and commonplace episode. She did 
 not seem at all excited or disturbed, or exultant. He 
 wondered what she did feel. 
 
 "Sorry I came back?" he asked. 
 
 He forgot she had inclined her figure toward him 
 when he had spoken to her during that ride. He 
 only remembered that she was going to that palatial 
 house. Women and girls are changeable. Perhaps
 
 222 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 she had become reconciled to that remarriage. 
 That "re." How he hated it now! Yes, hated. 
 He didn't dodge the issue. He met it fairly, or let 
 it hit him. He resented the "re." It was a miser- 
 able, despicable little word. To be remarried 
 that's what she had been going to do, when he had 
 intervened. She didn't act glad that he had done 
 that. She was silent, thoughtful. It was possible 
 that Light of Life had persuaded her to make the 
 best of a bad, or a good, bargain. Out of the strange- 
 ness of the moment a superlatively great cynicism 
 now insinuated itself. It began to shoot up and 
 flourish like a bamboo in a tropical clime. 
 
 "I saw him," he said. 
 
 "Who?" she asked. 
 
 "Him." Drawing himself up. "Amad." He 
 strove to speak easily, lightly, but in a back chamber 
 of his brain was still that picture the mandarah at 
 the diamond merchant's house, not vacant, as the 
 young man had seen it, but peopled with two the 
 old man and her, his young bride. 
 
 "You did?" She seemed bewildered. 
 
 "Yes, I worked for him." 
 
 "I don't understand,"
 
 VARYING FORTUNES 223 
 
 He looked at her. The green monster sat in the 
 little chamber in the back of his brain and the green 
 monster glowered at the picture. The green monster 
 spoke ; it is a way the green monster has. It doesn't 
 matter whether people are to blame, or not. It is a 
 very illogical monster. It jumps at conclusions. 
 
 "To think of their having married you to him. 
 You! Him!" he muttered. 
 
 It was ungenerous. He knew it, but he couldn't 
 help it. He didn't seem to have such perfect con- 
 trol over himself as he had had half an hour or so 
 ago. He let the monster growl. 
 
 The girl started. Then her eyes flashed. She 
 seemed to awake. Those words, perhaps, stung 
 her. She apparently forgot this fellow was but a 
 mustahall, a nobody. She only heard a voice and 
 resented it a voice that seemed to say that she had 
 given her youth for gold, even to one such as Her 
 face burned. 
 
 "That horrible old man! You think that I" 
 Breathlessly, passionately. "But I never was! 
 really ! and never would be." 
 
 "What !" The word rang out. 
 
 "Never!" she repeated. "It is preposterous, in-
 
 224 
 
 credible !" She did not look at him. She did not see 
 him. It was as if he were not there. 
 
 "They both lied to me Light of Life and he. 
 His daughter had just died, and he pretended " 
 Her voice died away. "I was to take her place the 
 ceremony was to be a mere formality. And then 
 and then" 
 
 He listened as if entranced. He could not move. 
 "The old scoundrel !" he half breathed. 
 
 "I drew my dagger. I think I even laughed. 
 It it was so preposterous. And then he di- 
 vorced " 
 
 That was all. All? His heart was hammering 
 now. He felt a greater emotion than when, at the 
 critical moment, he had snatched her away from 
 them. 
 
 "But " he managed to say, "you were riding 
 back, to his house? You had not, then, made up 
 your mind to to make the best of it ?" It was awk- 
 wardly expressed, he knew. 
 
 "Made up my mind?" The sweet lips curved 
 softly, almost mockingly. "When you touched my 
 arm, I dropped something." 
 
 "Something?"
 
 VARYING FORTUNES 225 
 
 "A vial." 
 
 "A vial .?" He continued to look at her. He be- 
 gan to see her meaning. That straight direct look 
 told him there was no fear in it. "By Allah," he 
 muttered hoarsely. "That that old wretch ! And 
 the old cat !" He meant his beloved mother-in-law. 
 The girl smiled now actually smiled. Or, maybe it 
 was only the ghost of a smile. Perhaps his vehe- 
 mence appealed to her. Or, perhaps she wondered 
 why he was so vehement ? 
 
 "And to think," burst from him, "I spared him !" 
 
 "You mean, you had him in your power?" 
 
 "Yes; I could have put it out of his power ever 
 to have annoyed you again." 
 
 "Killed him ?" The dark eyes were on him. 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 "But you couldn't?" 
 
 "He was old, and defenseless !" 
 
 Defenseless? She stared at him. The word 
 was not included in the code of Mohammedan ethics 
 where an enemy is concerned. Mohammedans do 
 not spare. 
 
 "You are sorry I didn't?" he demanded. "You 
 blame me?"
 
 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 He was glad of that His "wife" was an angel 
 After all she had endured ! He gazed at her ador- 
 ingly. The old green monster had by this time re- 
 tired so far into the dark chamber that he seemed 
 to have vanished. An odd, almost irresponsible ex- 
 hilaration succeeded that other emotion. 
 
 Not Amad's wife ! And "never had been !" The 
 words continued to vibrate in his brain. Did he 
 dream ? No, it was no dream. But he mustn't dwell 
 on it too long. There were practical matters to con- 
 sider. Their present situation? It was more than 
 precarious. He gazed at her now with what was in- 
 tended to be a practical look. 
 
 "See here," he said. "We've got to get out of 
 this Damascus, I mean. You can't stay here now, 
 nor can I. Tell you the reason." He stopped ; then 
 reconsidered. There was no time to tell her that now. 
 He had to formulate plans, or to go back to those he 
 had partially formulated before something had hap- 
 pened to interrupt the mental process of ways and 
 means. "We've got to get out," he repeated, as if 
 to emphasize it to himself as well as to her, "but the 
 Star is too well-known and we can't ride up to the
 
 VARYING FORTUNES 227 
 
 gate, or one of the exits. By Jove" did she 
 notice he had said Jove, not Allah ? "I've got it 
 You stay here. No one will find you. And I'll go 
 over to an exit near by. Maybe we can get out. 
 Anyhow, I'll have a look around and see how mat- 
 ters stand." 
 
 "But" the dark eyes lingered on him "you 
 mean I must remain here alone?" 
 
 "Only for a few moments." 
 
 "Why should I not go with you?" 
 
 "Wouldn't do. The danger" 
 
 "Then it will be dangerous?" 
 
 "Not for one," he answered hastily. Her eyes 
 were apprehensive. Another kind of thrill shot 
 through him. But modesty immediately drove it 
 away. Of course, she would be apprehensive; if 
 he didn't come back, she would be left there alone. 
 That would not be agreeable just the opposite. 
 
 "Don't you worry," he reassured her. "I'll be 
 back in a few minutes. I will see that nothing hap- 
 pens to me for your sake," he added with a laugh. 
 
 A moment the sheer beauty of her eyes held him, 
 then he tore himself away. He seemed walking on 
 air. Dangers did not exist. "Not Amad's not "
 
 The girl watched him disappear in the shadows of 
 the low structures flanking that side of the open 
 space. For some time she stood motionless like a 
 shadow herself. Then she moved across the door- 
 way to see better. The moments passed. How 
 still the deserted market now ! No one was in sight. 
 What must have seemed a long time passed as she 
 continued to gaze in the direction he had gone. Now 
 she moved a little way in that direction also. 
 
 "A few moments," he had said. Her brows drew 
 together. She hesitated, then returned to the stall. 
 For a considerable period she did not stir. Behind 
 her, the Star munched quietly at titbits of fodder 
 he found on the ground. No sound from without. 
 Only that same dread silence! She moved once 
 more through the doorway and looked toward the 
 exit from the city, or where she imagined it must 
 be. A smoldering fire seemed to burn now in her 
 veins. She could not stand still. She ventured 
 again in the direction of the gate, or exit farther, 
 this time. Still she did not see him this adven- 
 turer, bandit, or whatever he was, only no holy 
 dervish, she was sure. 
 
 She ventured farther ; how far she did not know.
 
 VARYING FORTUNES 229 
 
 Then suddenly she realized, or realization was 
 brought home to her. She heard voices behind and 
 looked around. A spark! a shedeh, or watch- 
 man's torch! She would have retraced her steps 
 hurriedly, when the fellow carrying the torch began 
 to wave it. Ribbons of flame played in the air. He 
 and those with him saw her and, for the moment, 
 she didn't know what to do. She could not get 
 back to the stall now. There came into her eyes the 
 look of a hunted wild creature as she gazed upon 
 these people drawing near. 
 
 "Quick !" A voice at her very ear caused her to 
 turn, and she could not suppress an exclamation. 
 It was he, the dervish. He had returned through a 
 narrow street leading into the square. His face was 
 almost stern ; he was terribly disappointed on her ac- 
 count. If only she had remained where he had left 
 her, he might easily have joined her when these 
 rioters, or looters, had gone by. He had come 
 to bring her good news, glorious news. There were 
 but two guards at the gate, and one of the two 
 seemed rather overcome with Arab whisky. The 
 others had probably gone a-looting. Amad had 
 spread the alarm, no doubt, by this time, but it had
 
 230 
 
 not yet reached this quarter. All this he had has- 
 tened back as soon as he could to tell her. They, 
 two, might have been able to get out of the city 
 by this gate. But now? he glanced toward the 
 watchman and those others. 
 
 "Come!" He indicated the side street. They 
 turned and darted into the narrow way. It was the 
 best that could be done.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 
 
 HE soon turned into an open doorway, draw- 
 ing her after him. Before them the narrow 
 street ended in a pocket He had been expecting 
 it. Streets here or apologies for the same had 
 a habit of doing that. The house they entered, as 
 well as others in that district, had been looted and 
 was partially destroyed. Its walls, like those of 
 many of the poorer class of Damascus dwellings, 
 were of mud that had become almost as hard as 
 brick, or the damage from the flames would have 
 been greater. The interior, however, had been fair- 
 ly gutted and the woodwork charred. A stairway 
 leading to the low second story looked as if it 
 would hardly stand, but up this the dervish went 
 quickly, motioning her to follow. She did so. At 
 the top he closed and bolted a door, then stood 
 listening. There was a possibility the man with 
 
 231
 
 232 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 the torch and those accompanying him had not ob- 
 served them enter. 
 
 But that possibility was not realized. Soon he 
 heard voices near the entrance. Some one expressed 
 doubt they had turned in here ; some one else insisted 
 they had. That some one else's voice caused the 
 dervish to start. Those tones had a familiar ring; 
 he thought he knew them. He had little time for 
 speculation, however, for the fellows below had 
 now entered. He glanced hastily around him, noting 
 that the room was small and that a narrow slit in 
 the wall alone served for a window. They had 
 not greatly improved a desperate situation by turn- 
 ing in here; the pocket had apparently been ex- 
 changed for a trap. 
 
 The young man regarded the girl quickly. He 
 had opportunity for only a few words. She must 
 now act as he would tell her. These fellows would 
 do her no bodily harm ; the presence of his Nemesis, 
 the saddler, among them, guaranteed that ; it was he 
 they desired to vent their holy resentment upon. He 
 feared he could do little for her henceforth; 
 he strove to speak steadily ; he would not let her see 
 what those words cost him. She must get into com-
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 233 
 
 munication with a certain Lord Fitzgerald, an Eng- 
 lishman, who might yet be in Damascus. If that 
 person had returned to England, she must somehow 
 get word to him; he had influence; he might even 
 be able to set the international machinery in motion 
 in her behalf, to see that justice was done her. "He 
 is a friend of mine," he whispered hoarsely. "Tell 
 him that you are the wife of Jack " 
 
 He got no further, for bending closer to look at 
 her, he saw that she seemed not to be listening to 
 him and a half-groan escaped his lips. His words 
 had apparently meant nothing to her. Those sounds 
 below had drowned the whispered injunction, en- 
 grossed her attention. From the street in front, 
 too, were wafted fragments of the Khutbet enneat, 
 the chant the pious ones sing when they indulge in 
 the ungentle occupation of Christian baiting. The 
 ominous tones constituted a weird accompaniment 
 to the voices below. He had no time to repeat his 
 words, for the fellows were on the stairs. There 
 seemed little he could do, but mechanically he picked 
 up a three-legged stool. He didn't indulge in any 
 inner false heroics. In the story books he would 
 be able to hold the stairway and emerge victoriously
 
 234 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 from the unequal contest ; in real life he knew these 
 affairs turn out differently. He was certainly rather 
 skeptical at the moment and regarded his weapon 
 of defense ruefully. He didn't look at the girl; he 
 was afraid the sight of her would unnerve him. 
 
 The fellows were at the door now. It wouldn't 
 intervene long between him and them. The dervish 
 swung his stool. He began to feel a little more in- 
 terest. A crash, disproportionate to the mere yield- 
 ing of the door, ensued, and the girl closed her eyes. 
 That sound was like the crack of doom. Dust of 
 plaster mingled with the smoke. It was hard to 
 breathe. Why was it not the end ? Why did these 
 people not enter? A moment she waited, then 
 looked again, to gaze out this time into an open 
 space. 
 
 Had a karameh, or miracle, been performed? 
 The dervish stood as surrounded by a vapor. That 
 was the way the poor venders of street miracles 
 looked when they burned a little perfumed some- 
 thing in a brazier for stage effect. But this vapor 
 was not perfumed. Quite the contrary! And this 
 miracle worker had waved a stool instead of a wand. 
 Now he dropped it ; she heard him laugh, but rather
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 235 
 
 fiercely. Then she saw some one clinging to the 
 threshold (the stairs seemed to have disappeared) 
 and that some one was endeavoring to pull himself 
 up to the floor on which they stood. But he didn't 
 He indulged instead in a parabola and not of his 
 own choosing to the ground below. That some 
 one was Sadi, and his features were distorted with 
 rage ; next he emitted a howl. 
 
 The dervish might have used the heavy stool and 
 so removed Sadi from his sphere of bigotry and 
 usefulness, or uselessness, forever ; but he preferred 
 the less sanguinary, if more ignominious, method of 
 the boot. It seemed to give better vent to his feel- 
 ings. His foot had swung back in true football 
 fashion, lunged forward like a thunderbolt, and the 
 saddler became as not. That howl was succeeded 
 by silence from him. The others, however, still 
 made a noise; no doubt they had suffered a few 
 bruises or scratches, when the stairway avenged the 
 indignity heaped upon it and that erstwhile more 
 or less peaceful home, by ceasing to perform its 
 wonted functions for these active antagonists of 
 Christian domesticity. 
 
 The young man was now busy at the roof and the
 
 236 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY, 
 
 stool became a wrecking implement. It isn't hard 
 to wreck a Damascus house, especially when 
 there's been a fire to weaken the tile and rafters. 
 In a few moments the dervish had made an open- 
 ing, lifted himself through it and reached down his 
 hands to his companion. In a few moments more, 
 having descended the slanting second story roof 
 to the lower one of an outhouse, they easily reached 
 the ground and stood in a peaceful and pretty apri- 
 cot orchard. He breathed deeply. Here was an 
 agreeable transition. It was as if they had at last 
 attained the enchanted garden that went with the 
 magical horse. 
 
 He looked at his princess, no sternness in his eyes 
 now. He forgot she had disregarded his injunc- 
 tion and left the camel stall, or if he didn't, he over- 
 looked her disobedience. A princess, of course, 
 obeys only her own caprices. He looked at her 
 long, as if to make sure she was really and truly 
 there. No doubt about it! and yes! that faint 
 reflected light from the sullen yellowish clouds 
 showed a slight smudge on her cheek. That, too, 
 was a variation from the story books. Fancy a 
 princess with a smudge ! The young man chuckled.
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 237 
 
 He rather gloried in that smudge. He didn't tell 
 her about it. He let it stay there. It seemed an 
 antidote to imperiousness, to wave away stand- 
 offishness, to draw her irresistibly, whether she knew 
 it or not, just a shade nearer his own state of ir- 
 responsible vagabondage. Incidentally he experi- 
 enced a fine feeling of comradeship. The only diffi- 
 culty was, it wouldn't, and couldn't, last. He was 
 walking in some one else's garden, which, by the 
 way, it behooved him to leave as quickly as possible ; 
 he was a trespasser as well as an abductor, and 
 well, yes, "horse thief." For a double-, treble-, or 
 quadruple-dyed criminal, though, he was fairly con- 
 tented for the moment. He hugged the fleeting 
 seconds, in lieu of her only one can't, linguistically 
 hug a stately young princess! to one's breast. 
 They were to him what small coin is to a miser. 
 They were the ha'pence and farthings of bliss 
 good enough for a beggar. 
 
 "What were you saying when those people came 
 up the stairs?" she asked suddenly as they walked 
 rapidly on. 
 
 "Never mind now," he answered, looking down 
 at her. "Fortunately, it doesn't matter."
 
 238 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "You were angry with me?" A little haughtily. 
 
 "Angry? With you?" In surprise. 
 
 "Yes. When you found I had left the stall! I 
 could see it." 
 
 "You must be mistaken." He smiled rather friv- 
 olously at the smudge. The girl's brows drew to- 
 gether. 
 
 "What" abruptly "did you discover at the 
 exit?" 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 "Many guards?"' 
 
 "No a." 
 
 "Fewer than you expected ?" Her voice was more 
 imperious. She divined, perhaps, he was trying to 
 keep something from her. 
 
 "Maybe." 
 
 "We could have got out ?" quickly. 
 
 "Hard to tell what we could have done/' he an- 
 swered evasively. "I well, I'm no prophet. By 
 Allah!" His voice suddenly changed. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Look!" Hoarsely. 
 
 She gazed back in the direction indicated. Flames 
 were now bursting from the roof of the house they
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 239 
 
 had just left; the fellows must have heaped com- 
 bustibles in the room below and set fire to them. The 
 girl could not repress a shudder, thinking what 
 might have been their fate, but there was a steely 
 look in the young man's eyes. His fists closed. 
 "Devils!" he muttered. 
 
 But Sadi? why had he permitted this diabolical 
 act? He had recognized the dervish; he must have 
 concluded the girl with him was the bride-to-be of 
 his wealthy relative. The saddler could have had 
 no desire to see her destroyed in this awful manner. 
 Her life was sacred in Sadi's eyes, at least. It must 
 be, then, the saddler did not know ; that his fall had 
 temporarily deprived him of his senses. But later? 
 He would recover; he would, also, probably in- 
 vestigate, and his search would show that his worst 
 fears were not realized. And then ? 
 
 It behooved them, indeed, to get away from here. 
 Faster now he urged her on. Their enchanted gar- 
 den ominous circumstance ! ended abruptly at 
 a graveyard. A low stone fence separated them 
 from it. He helped her over and for some moments 
 they groped and stumbled forward as best they 
 might. He did not ask her if she were afraid of
 
 240 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 ibices, or other dread spirits that are supposed to 
 haunt the cities of the dead. He took it for granted 
 that she was not. It was no time to think of the 
 supernatural. Yet yonder? What were they? 
 Phantoms ? They seemed to bob up right out of the 
 earth to confront them. Some ran away. One or 
 two stayed. The girl must have moved close to her 
 companion, for she felt his hand on her arm. She 
 was frankly glad, too, to feel the warm gripping 
 fingers. He, at arty rate, was flesh and blood. 
 Those other ghostly things? One of them now 
 spoke. 
 
 It or rather he asked if they, too, were fugi- 
 tives. The girl gave a quick nervous laugh; it 
 was a relief to hear that voice, though it sounded 
 querulous. She could make out the speaker now; 
 he had a long white beard and seemed to resent 
 their coming. The dervish answered. Yes, they, 
 too, were fugitives. Grumblings! Not only from 
 the one, but from the others. Grudging phantoms ! 
 They apparently wanted the graveyard all to them- 
 selves. The reason soon become manifest. 
 
 Had the newcomers been followed, was the next 
 question. The dervish replied in the affirmative.
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 241 
 
 Greater perturbation! Voices mixed; two or three 
 talking at once, excitedly, though in low tones. Let 
 this couple either go back, or walk on. They must 
 not remain here. The first-comers wished to be 
 left alone ; they had their women folk to look after. 
 The women folk came up and gave prima facie evi- 
 dence there were women folk. Their big bold eyes 
 studied the girl. The dervish studied them, and as 
 he did so, enlightenment came to him. 
 
 Poor stage people strolling Hebrew players! 
 that's what they were. On the ground were several 
 bundles, their properties. He had once seen them 
 perform. Ting! ting! He heard again the ood and 
 the nay; saw, in fancy, the little cafe, full of 
 smoke. He listened to the shrill voices, the odd 
 dissonances. These women were the descendants of 
 the singing girls, or almahs of the First Chronicles. 
 Their ancestors had, perhaps, danced for King Sol- 
 omon. Now their masters, or auditors, were base 
 Moslems. 
 
 About to move on, the dervish hesitated. His 
 eye again turned toward the bundles and then 
 shifted to the girl. There was a question in his 
 look. He seemed considering. Also, he lingered
 
 242 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 inexplicably! or so it seemed to her. He even 
 wasted the precious moments to indulge in appar- 
 ently superfluous conversation. It was certainly 
 mysterious. 
 
 "But surely they will not harm you?" It was 
 more a statement than a question, and he did not 
 make it idly. A purpose was framing in his mind. 
 It might prove feasible if the girl were amenable. 
 But, of course, she would be. She would see the 
 necessity for acceding to his plan, however mad, or 
 rash, it might seem to her at first. Again he cast 
 a quick glance over his shoulder toward the house 
 they had left. The glow from the fire had almost 
 died out. That meant the others might be here any 
 moment. He scarcely heard the old man's vehement 
 answer. 
 
 "Not harm?" Had they, the poor strollers, not 
 been driven from their lodgings? And from pillar 
 to post? Had they not lost many of their pos- 
 sessions ? And would they not have lost their lives, 
 perhaps, if they had not fled? 
 
 "Perhaps not," the dervish answered hastily, 
 though reassuringly. "They may remember they 
 will want more entertainment from you in the fu- 
 ture. Anyhow," with a quick shift of tone, "as
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 243 
 
 fugitives should help fugitives, I have a slight favor 
 to ask." 
 
 "A favor? From us? God in Israel! Why should 
 we grant favors?" 
 
 "Because it will be good policy," he answered 
 crisply. As he spoke he once more gazed quickly 
 back. "They may spare you. They probably will. 
 But as for me " He shrugged. "There is noth- 
 ing they wouldn't like to do with me hang, draw 
 and quarter! And I fancy, too, it would go hard 
 with any in whose company I am found." 
 
 "You tell us that, and yet?" The patriarch 
 fairly gasped. "Be off!" 
 
 "Yes, be off!" exclaimed the others. 
 
 "On condition !" He got to it at last. 
 
 The patriarch drew in his breath and looked at 
 his band. It was not difficult to read his thought. 
 He was fortified by but two effeminate-looking 
 youths and the women. And this fellow appeared 
 both formidable and dangerous. 
 
 "We might just as well stay, and be taken here 
 as anywhere else," the dervish went on coolly. "Since 
 misery likes company, you know!" 
 
 "But why do you wish to bring misfortune upon 
 us?" half wailed the old man.
 
 244 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "I do not wish only you have your women folk 
 to consider. I have mine. My wife!" His voice 
 took on a certain warmth. "A man must protect his 
 own. And she she belongs to me." He dared say 
 that, and with a fervor that sounded real, stepping 
 closer as he spoke. The girl drew slightly away. 
 The wonderful eyes were startled, luminous, a little 
 antagonistic. He might even have placed a pro- 
 prietary hand on her ; he looked quite capable of it. 
 
 "What's the condition ?" The patriarch regarded 
 him sourly. Anything to get rid of a madman ! 
 
 The dervish stated it clearly, concisely, and the 
 girl started now. What? did he think, then, that 
 she? it was madness. "Our only chance," he said 
 to her in a low tone, reading her thoughts. The 
 patriarch, however, protested mightily. 
 
 "As if we had not already been sufficiently 
 robbed !" He raised his hands to heaven. 
 
 "But this will not be robbery," he insisted in a 
 livelier tone. "We pay. See." He took the girl's 
 hand and drew a ring from one of her fingers. She 
 was too surprised to resist. "For your sake !" Sotto 
 voce. And then, aloud "Look at it !" The patriarch 
 did. The others crowded around. "Hurry," said
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 245 
 
 the dervish, "or it will be too late." As he spoke, he 
 glanced for the last time toward the apricot orchard. 
 
 "It is a bargain," said the patriarch. Which 
 meant that the stone was good. 
 
 A short time later, an old man and a boy left the 
 cemetery by the main entrance on the other side.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AT THE GATE 
 
 ON outward appearance they resembled two 
 romantic types that had not yet disappeared 
 from Mohammedan civilization. Aboo-Zeydee, 
 poet-reciter, and his pupils were figures still well 
 known in certain localities where conditions were 
 most unchanging. They walked as if in a hurry. 
 Occasionally the seemingly old man looked at his 
 companion. By Allah ! Here was a handsome boy, 
 almost too handsome. A youth's bright turban set 
 off the proud oval face and the dark romantic eyes; 
 its folds also concealed her hair. Her cloak came 
 just below the knees and in her hand she carried 
 the customary musical instrument of the class to 
 which she was supposed to belong, a kanoon. Their 
 progress attracted no especial attention from any 
 they met and, arrived at the gate, the old man 
 stepped forward boldly as if taking it for granted 
 
 246
 
 AT THE GATE 247 
 
 they would be permitted to pass out. A guard, 
 however, promptly intervened. 
 
 "Have you a permit to leave?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then you can't," said the guard shortly. 
 
 "But we have an engagement in the country to 
 entertain country folk. We must." The old man 
 spoke vigorously. 
 
 "It is impossible." 
 
 "This is extraordinary in our case. It is a wed- 
 ding we are to attend. We can't disappoint them. 
 You can see who we are." 
 
 "Yes, I can see." As he spoke the soldier's eye 
 swept over them. The girl bore his gaze with 
 clear-eyed steadiness, though she now held back a 
 little in the shadow. "That's a fine-looking boy of 
 yours. Is he a good player?" 
 
 "Of course. Why do you ask?" 
 
 "Because I'll tell you what I'll do." Abruptly. 
 The fellow, as the dervish surmised, had been drink- 
 ing. His expression became somewhat good-na- 
 tured. "We'll stretch orders a trifle in your case, 
 and let you out " 
 
 "Thanks!" Eagerly.
 
 248 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "That is," added the fellow, "if you pay for the 
 privilege !" 
 
 "Pay! How should poor reciters be able to pay, 
 with living so expensive!" 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean pay in piasters. You shall 
 pay with a song! It's tiresome here." Yawning. 
 "And we need a little entertainment to enliven us. 
 What do you say?" To the others of the guard. 
 "These two people look harmless enough. Shall we 
 let them out for a song?" The others assented, 
 crowding around. They, too, seemed to have been 
 partaking of the insidious Arabic beverage. 
 
 "Make it a tale," the dervish said hastily, "thougfi 
 a short one, for we shall be late if we delay here 
 too long." 
 
 "No, no; it's a song we want. And not from 
 you, old graybeard. We don't want any of your 
 croakings. It's the boy we would hear." 
 
 "The boy?" Hastily. "He is tired. He he has 
 been working hard all evening, and it is late. I 
 won't have him sing any more. It might spoil his 
 voice for the wedding." The dervish protested ve- 
 hemently. She, sing for that low riff-raff of Tur- 
 key soldiery? Never! It would be impossible for
 
 AT THE GATE 249 
 
 her to do it Besides, he didn't know whether she 
 could sing, or play. He hadn't asked her. He had 
 relied upon the costumes serving them solely as a 
 disguise at first. Later, if need be, he would teach 
 her to strum on a few strings, while he reeled off 
 the usual high-flown yarns. He did not doubt his 
 ability in that respect, but she? 
 
 "The boy is new to the art. I have just bought 
 him from his parents as an apprentice," he went on 
 hurriedly. "You will have to excuse him. But I 
 have a fine and merry mad tale " 
 
 "The evil one take you and your tales!" cried 
 the guard angrily. "It's the boy we would hear, and 
 I tell you he shall give us a song, or " 
 
 A few wild strident chords from the kanoon in- 
 terrupted. The girl stopped further discussion by 
 singing; and she could sing; no doubt about that. 
 Not a large voice, but one with a thrill in it, or a lilt 
 like a bird's. The dervish hardly knew what she 
 sang; his brain for the moment had become rather 
 confused. A love song, of course! No want of 
 passion, either! He felt in a half dream as me- 
 chanically he squatted a&00-fashion on the earth. 
 His hoarse croakings they were "croakings," in
 
 250 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 imitation of an old man, and a rather poor imitation 
 at that came in with the refrains. He did not 
 know what it was all about, but he made his voice 
 tremble; he put a wonderful tremolo in it. That 
 might pass for passion; it sometimes does. A 
 rose and a nightingale! that's what they seemed 
 to him at that moment. He had to croak though 
 in order not to be left out of it; what was the use 
 of pretending he was an aboo if he didn't croak, 
 but parenthetically, between his own occasional 
 exertions, he received an impression of moonlight 
 in a grove, the shimmering spots, the traditional 
 bird with a thorn against its breast, or something 
 of the kind. The song seemed to end where it 
 ought not; it stopped on something minor and 
 unresolved. But it was the end. It was as if some 
 one had hit the bird with a rock. 
 
 The dervish threw off the glamour. It was very 
 wonderful, at least to him. He didn't look at her 
 now. He was afraid he might not appear gruff 
 enough. He just sprang to his feet and started for 
 the exit. 
 
 "And now you've had your song !" he said to them 
 and waved an imperious hand toward her. Thus
 
 " He felt in a half dream as mechanically he squatted 
 aboo-Fashion on the earth "
 
 AT THE GATE 251 
 
 do masters peremptorily order around the boys 
 whose services they have purchased from the par- 
 ents. His gesture said bruskly: "Hurry up. 
 We've got to go. No more fooling around 
 here !" He seemed like a tyrant. He wanted to ap- 
 pear so. Nightingales moonlight love-throbs 
 like the beating of the sea what had he, to all in- 
 tents and purposes an old man, to do with them? 
 "Come." More peremptorily. Out there was free- 
 dom with her! And paradise! 
 
 Yes; by Allah, the genuine bona-fide paradise of 
 the Bible. It occurred to him all of a sudden. Think 
 of it! Tramps in the real actual Garden of Eden, 
 located indubitably by the geographers and watered 
 by the same two old rivers. For the moment he ex- 
 perienced a dizzy sensation. It didn't last. 
 
 "Hold on," said the guard. Some one had dashed 
 up or given a farcical semblance of dashing up 
 on horseback. The dervish was almost out of the 
 gate, but the girl was yet in. The soldiers promptly 
 intervened between her and that (to him) irrefuta- 
 ble Elysium. He came back. He was about to wax 
 indignant, but he changed his mind for the mo- 
 ment. Instead, he looked at the newcomer and
 
 252 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 continued to look at him. The dyer ! Should they 
 bolt for the exit? Alas! he might get out, though 
 it was doubtful, but she Those soldiers had guns 
 and they weren't blunderbusses, either, with bar- 
 rels about twelve feet long, inlaid with mother-of- 
 pearl and other useless, non-sanguinary ingredients. 
 These sons of the desert leaned nonchalantly and 
 picturesquely upon weapons quite up-to-date. They, 
 themselves, enacted the ornamental; quite proper 
 blackguards for a canvas, they appeared Fortuny 
 would have enjoyed a dab at them ; but their 
 weapons were twentieth century and serviceable. It 
 would have been inconsistent, as well as inexpedient, 
 for a fourteenth century (or so) aboo and his pupil 
 to try conclusions with a twentieth century (or so) 
 later brand of firearms. It would be like anach- 
 ronism. 
 
 The dervish sighed to himself. He glanced at 
 the girl and then, sidewise, toward paradise. That 
 horseman was the dread angel with the flaming 
 sword. The dervish waited, not patiently. The 
 conversation seemed to him now inconsequential, 
 trivial, though it was far from that. 
 
 "More orders, I suppose," grumbled the guard.
 
 AT THE GATE 253 
 
 "Everybody is sending them. First, it is the chief 
 magistrate and then the general at the fortress." 
 
 "This is from the chief magistrate," said the 
 dyer, handing a paper. His oleaginous counte- 
 nance, at one time so placid, showed new and 
 deeper traces of worry. As if he had not 
 sufficiently suffered in reputation already from the 
 actions of this fellow whom he had introduced 
 into his patron's house, without this new and cul- 
 minating disaster! Thus spoke his dejected mien. 
 Truly Allah had blinded his eyes, thrown dust on 
 the heart of his judgment and led him to a viper of 
 unparalleled malignity and ingenious audacity. He 
 was having a very busy night ; he had not long ago 
 come from a very unpleasant scene between Light 
 of Life and his revered patron. The latter was 
 getting the worst of it when the dyer had left. Now, 
 at the remembrance of it, the satellite wiped the 
 perspiration from his brow. His grouchy glance 
 swept toward the dervish. 
 
 "So it is thus you keep watch, making merry 
 with idle vagabonds?" The dyer tried to pass 
 along some of the ill-humor he had endured from 
 others. It is human nature to do so.
 
 254 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "What harm a little music ?" retorted the guard. 
 "Besides, we have kept good watch." 
 
 "You will need to," snapped the other, shaking a 
 fat and admonitory finger. "Have you read?" 
 
 "This paper states that some scoundrel of a 
 Christian has carried off the bride-to-be of the rich 
 diamond merchant, Amad Ahl-Masr." 
 
 "It is even true." Bitterly. The girl stood far- 
 ther back in the shadow. 
 
 "May the Compassionate One smite him guilty 
 of such a crime !" muttered the dervish in the back- 
 ground. "May he restore the priceless pearl to the 
 bosom of the rightful owner." 
 
 "A good prayer!" said the guard approvingly, 
 but the dyer seemed not to hear. 
 
 "In the message from the magistrate you will find 
 full instructions," he said to the soldier importantly. 
 "See that they are carried out." 
 
 "To the letter," answered the fellow. 
 
 "And look to yourselves!" With a frown in the 
 direction of the vagabond-reciter and his boy. 
 "The scoundrel and she whom he has carried off 
 are still in the city. They must not be suffered to 
 leave. Special orders have been despatched to all
 
 AT THE GATE 255 
 
 the gates and exits. They may hide while it is dark, 
 but after the morning prayer we will have them." 
 
 "And make short shift of the fellow," observed 
 the guard sympathetically. 
 
 "Short?" The dyer's fat jaws came together 
 with a crack. He seemed biting off something. "He 
 not only stole his wife, but his horse, the pride of 
 his stable." 
 
 "An unpardonable crime, that last," said the sol- 
 dier. "A man might sometimes forgive the for- 
 mer, but " 
 
 "You will find the description of them here," ob- 
 served the dyer with another frown. "Also, infor- 
 mation about the reward. Remember my patron is 
 a man of much influence with the military as well 
 as with the civic authorities." 
 
 "We shall remember!" And no doubt the fellow 
 was impressed. 
 
 "May Allah restore "again muttered the poet- 
 reciter, but this time in a low tone intended only 
 for the soldiers near at hand. 
 
 Again the dyer's glance swung back toward the 
 dervish and his companion. Did he know her; had 
 he ever seen her unveiled? It was unlikely. Still
 
 256 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 he was a frequent visitor to Amad's house. He 
 might accidentally or those eyes ? Women do not 
 veil their eyes and her eyes would not be easily for- 
 gotten. The dervish held his breath; then stole a 
 sidelong look at the girl. She stood with lashes 
 down-bent. Her attitude still expressed indifference. 
 The musical instrument trailed from her fingers to 
 the ground. The light touched her hand; it was 
 very small too small. And so fine and shapely! 
 Why did the dyer not say something? Probably 
 but a second or two passed, yet they seemed in- 
 terminable. 
 
 Suddenly the dyer struck his nag and, bobbing 
 up and down like a man not accustomed to such 
 strenuous activities, he disappeared in the night. 
 Joy followed his going. As he vanished like an ir- 
 relevant hobgoblin, the dervish turned once more to 
 the girl. He tried to appear testy and crusty, as 
 would an old fellow put out. But in fancy he could 
 smell the odors of the country. Paradise! The Gar- 
 des of Eden ! or El Genneh, according to the Arabic 
 "a flowering place." It was all the same. A rose, 
 or paradise, by any name 
 
 "Well, what are you waiting for?" he said.
 
 AT THE GATE 257 
 
 She responded with alacrity. More than that! 
 She arose to the occasion, and "Coming, master!" 
 she said, though with mockery in dark passionate 
 eyes. But the soldiers still did not make way for 
 them, and 
 
 "Here, tell your fellows to let us go," the dervish, 
 yet more testily, exclaimed to the guard. 
 
 "Sorry," said the guard slowly, and somewhat 
 sheepishly, "but I can't." 
 
 "Can't, after didn't you get your song?" the 
 dervish demanded in just anger. His voice sounded 
 warm, but a chill ran over him. 
 
 "That is quite true, we got the song, and if I had 
 my way " 
 
 "A bargain's a bargain!" Energetically. 
 
 "I know, but this paper these new orders I 
 dare not disobey them. I might have made an excep- 
 tion before, but not now." 
 
 "What does the paper say?" The dervish strove 
 to conceal evidence of the turbulent emotions that 
 surged through him. El Genneh? was it receding 
 from them, like a mirage? 
 
 "This order countermands all others and decrees 
 no one shall leave the city to-night. This applies
 
 258 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 to all, not only Christians. Even permits that have 
 already been issued are not to -be recognized, unless 
 signed by no less a person than the governor of 
 the province himself." 
 
 "Surely that is tyranny quite needless and I 
 again demand " In a louder voice. But he knew 
 it would not avail. He had a dire foreknowledge 
 to -that effect. 
 
 "Spare your breath," said the soldier coolly. "As 
 for the song, here are a few piasters." And he 
 tossed several coppers on the ground. But the der- 
 vish let them lie there. 
 
 "A soldier's word " he began once more. Then 
 bowed his head. Of what avail were words? The 
 pulses on his temples were drumming, yet he had to 
 continue to act a part. "A broken engagement? 
 What will they think of me? What?" 
 
 "One moment," said the guard, and his gaze was 
 bent down the narrow street, where now, not one 
 but a number of horsemen, preceded by two fellows 
 with torches, could be seen approaching. "Yonder, 
 if I am not mistaken, comes he, of whom we were 
 speaking." 
 
 The kanoon fell from the girl's hand ; the pupils
 
 AT THE GATE 259 
 
 of her eyes seemed suddenly to dilate, and the color 
 left her cheek. Amad! There was no doubt of it. 
 
 "Since we can not get out " The dervish be- 
 gan to retreat. 
 
 "Why don't you stay and appeal to him?" called 
 out the guard. "A word to the powers that be from 
 one of his rank and position, and you might " 
 
 "No, no!" Hastily. "Why should we bother 
 one so illustrious, and at such a time? He would 
 be too concerned in his own great affairs to be in- 
 terested in " The dervish did not finish the sen- 
 tence. The words trailed off as he started some- 
 what hurriedly from the exit, with the girl close 
 at his heels.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 NEAR THE CITADEL 
 
 HAD not the guard and the soldiers been espe- 
 cially concerned in the great man's approach, 
 they could not have failed to note that somewhat 
 undue celerity in the departure of the peripatetic 
 two. The dervish displayed a precipitancy rather 
 out of keeping with his age and dignity, and differ- 
 ing decidedly from the manner of his approach. His 
 joints now did not seem to need oiling. He had to 
 hurry, and as it was, he reached the shadow of an 
 outjutting house none too soon. The diamond 
 merchant, and those with him, rode up, and by, even 
 as he stepped quickly back, drawing the girl to his 
 side. Like a yellow mask in the night, they saw 
 Amad's face flash past. And never was mask set 
 with more evil expression, while concentrated keen- 
 ness, fury and diabolical persistency glowed from 
 the eyes. 
 
 -260
 
 NEAR THE CITADEL 261 
 
 The dervish felt his companion shiver as if she 
 were cold. His arm was before her now, pressing 
 her close to the wall, for the shadow in front of 
 them extended but a little way out. He felt her 
 quick breathing and said something in a low whis- 
 per whether words of encouragement, passion, or 
 only of caution he did not know. That little strip 
 of black ! It was their only protection and they stole 
 along it now, keeping as near as possible to the wall. 
 From the direction of the gate, they heard Amad's 
 voice, loud, rasping and disagreeable. Now an angle 
 of wall projected several feet, intersecting the rib- 
 bon of black. Though sharp eyes from afar might 
 see them, they glided quickly around it and con- 
 tinued to move on. Whither? He felt he was but 
 temporizing with the inevitable, at best, that his 
 efforts were puny, ineffectual, and almost ludi- 
 crous ! He could move only just so far in any given 
 direction and then he had to stop. 
 
 He tried to think, but walking now with her 
 down-bent, he did not seem to be able to marshal 
 his thoughts to any purpose. A sense of his own 
 insufficiency weighed on him like lead. His op- 
 timism had suffered a rude shock. It really mat-
 
 262 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 tered little which way they went, since the exits 
 and gates were all absolutely closed to them now. 
 Only by means of a special permit from the gover- 
 nor himself, could they get out of the city. The 
 governor? Why, that fanatical high official was as 
 far removed from them as the moon. The dervish 
 could as well hope to attain to the one as the other. 
 Meanwhile there was no dodging the painful fact 
 time was passing; the morn would come, and find 
 them here. In his own mind he faced that con- 
 tingency squarely. What would it mean for them 
 now? How had they improved, or ameliorated, 
 their prospects? Out there, these togs would have 
 served them. Those who sought would not have 
 found them. Inquiry would have failed to locate a 
 holy dervish and a fair young girl. They would 
 have vanished as into thin air. 
 
 But here, it was different. Her face was too well- 
 known to many women to go long unrecognized. 
 Could she hope to escape Light of Life's venomous 
 eyes? And those other women? How they would 
 spy and watch for her! Not only for the reward! 
 Oh, no; not only for that! She had offended the 
 Mohammedan sense of propriety, that bugaboo as
 
 NEAR THE CITADEL 263 
 
 big as the Colossus of Rhodes! They would neg- 
 lect their household duties to avenge that. Cats on 
 the trail? Rather! And Light of Life the black 
 one, general whipper-in! What chance for the 
 quarry ? 
 
 The girl suddenly looked at him and spoke. Her 
 quiet voice startled him. It was as if she had read 
 his thoughts. "It is the end." 
 
 "Oh, no ; not at all," he hastily reassured her, en- 
 deavoring to make his tones light. "Not at all!" 
 he repeated cheerily. 
 
 "It is." No fear in her voice; nor did her lips 
 tremble. 
 
 "Pooh !" He threw out the deprecatory ejacula- 
 tion with a short laugh. But that laugh, somehow, 
 didn't seem to fit. He experienced the very human 
 desire to take her in his arms, to reassure her that 
 way though a very irrational and illogical way, no 
 doubt ! to press his lips to those long sweeping 
 lashes, shading the deep doubting eyes, to drive 
 trouble from the sweet proud lips with masculine 
 caresses, the way the leading "heavies" do in the 
 plays, center of stage. Only he didn't feel a right to 
 the center of the stage. A humiliating consciousness
 
 264 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY] 
 
 of his especial eligibility to the "back row" tempered 
 sweet temptation with reticence. He had played the 
 game and lost. He had not made good. As a 
 husband even of convenience, he was a fizzle. As 
 a hero he rang like a perforated piaster. "I ex- 
 pect we'd better try some of the other exits," he 
 said with attempted enthusiasm. But it, too, rang 
 as if it had a hole in it. It was a counterfeit at- 
 tempt. How could it be otherwise, with those now 
 penetrating eyes of the girl upon him? 
 
 "I should never have done it," she said slowly, 
 regretfully. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Married you." 
 
 "Very sorry to have disappointed you not to 
 have come up to your expectations " Lucky he 
 hadn't tried the stage way ; that "Don't worry, my 
 dear!" dialogue. "It'll come out all right," with 
 incidental business, underscored with red ink. 
 
 "I didn't mean exactly that," she interjected. 
 
 "Thanks! Awfully good of you!" 
 
 "You heard what that dyer and the guard said at 
 the gate? about what would happen to you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Yes, indeed."
 
 NEAR THE CITADEL 265 
 
 "Don't you mind r 
 
 "Do " He was about to say it, to affix a "you," 
 but he didn't. Brute ! To think of himself, at such 
 a moment, or what she thought of him, which was 
 the same thing. Egotism of the male! Rank self- 
 ishness ! No effacement of the big "I" or me ! 
 
 " 'Short shift' that's what the guard said," she 
 went on, almost musingly. 
 
 "Did he?" Absently. 
 
 She shot a quick look at him. Her gaze was puz- 
 zled. A poseur? No. 
 
 "I don't like to think that it's my fault that you 
 may be " she went on, in the least unsteadily. 
 
 "Your fault?" He interrupted. "You mean that 
 'short shift' business for me?" He regarded her 
 eagerly, but her look was only steady, deep and 
 troubled, as a very conscientious person's might be. 
 She had scruples, a fine moral sense. He under- 
 stood very well. "Why," he said quickly, reassur- 
 ingly. He could reassure her on this point. He was 
 glad he could reassure her about something. "They'd 
 make that whatever they mean by it of me, any- 
 way, if they could get me. They would have, even 
 if I'd never laid eyes on you never !" Even as he
 
 266 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 spoke, that dread contingency smote him like a 
 tragedy. Never to have seen her! 
 
 "I don't understand," she faltered. 
 
 She did before long. He gave a sudden excla- 
 mation. He was not looking at her now ; his gaze 
 had passed over and beyond her. 
 
 They had been walking through a comparatively 
 quiet neighborhood for a turbulent city, and had 
 come to a short thoroughfare, not far from that in- 
 consequential structure or series of structures, fanci- 
 fully termed the citadel. It housed soldiers, or those 
 nondescripts who bore arms; hence, by a stretch of 
 oriental imagination, the occidental nomenclature! 
 But it was not the "citadel" which concerned the der- 
 vish; indeed, he was at the moment unaware that, 
 by the irony of fate, he had walked almost straight 
 into the lion's mouth and taken her with him. His 
 gaze was directed in another quarter, where, under 
 the shadow of the big guns if there were any in 
 the citadel stood a low building, bearing on its 
 front some kind of official shield. It was not this 
 structure, however, that held the attention of the 
 young man. An unexpected object stood in front of 
 it. How it ever got there, through the narrow and
 
 NEAR THE CITADEL 267 
 
 tortuous streets, Allah only knew, but there it was, 
 large, aggressive, self-assertive, emitting an odor, 
 offensive no doubt, to nostrils accustomed only to the 
 more delicate aroma of musk or sandal-wood. This 
 object itself, though so unlocked for, the dervish 
 was only aware of, inasmuch as it revealed some- 
 thing else. In front of the shadowy outlines of the 
 mechanical body stood a man, and the light of a lamp 
 shone full on his face. He seemed to be examining 
 the mechanism of his car which operation caused 
 him to squeeze the tighter a monocle he wore in his 
 right eye, thereby bringing into play around said eye 
 innumerable little wrinkles. He was middle-aged, 
 English, and had on a traveling suit, topped by the 
 customary snug little cap whose popularity reaches 
 from pauper to peer. But whether he had just come 
 or was just going was not at the moment apparent. 
 A trunk, rugs and sundry other paraphernalia of 
 traveling were affixed to, and deposited in, the car, 
 and a solicitous native chauffeur who went with the 
 rest of the luggage, had placed himself on the front 
 seat. The Englishman suddenly straightened. Ap- 
 parently he had found his examination not alto- 
 gether satisfactory.
 
 268 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "That and that out of order again," he said 
 in technical parlance. "Well, let her go, anyhow. 
 Maybe she'll carry us somewhere, where we'll find 
 somebody who knows something." Evidently he did 
 not entertain a high opinion of his driver's mechan- 
 ical ability. The dervish moved nearer. They were 
 going then. The chug! chug! now sounded fast, 
 though wheezily, then stopped altogether. The Eng- 
 lishman about to step in, paused. "Perhaps we shall 
 and perhaps we shan't," he muttered, and just then 
 the dervish made his presence felt. 
 
 "A tale!" he exclaimed loudly. "Your lordship 
 seems to have a few moments to spare. Will not 
 your lordship graciously deign to listen?" 
 
 "Eh ?" The Englishman stared at the imposing 
 figure of the old man who thus rather startlingly 
 
 accosted him. "How the deuce do you know that 
 j p 
 
 "It is a trick the fellows of this class have 
 learned," spoke up the native driver in fairly good 
 English. "They call every white man, 'my lord,' 
 and every white woman 'milady,' to drum up trade. 
 It works well, they say, especially among the 
 women."
 
 NEAR THE CITADEL 269 
 
 "Indeed?" Languidly, and waving the aboo from 
 him. "No, I don't want any of your tales, my good 
 fellow. As you see," with fine sarcasm, "we are 
 otherwise occupied." 
 
 "But I have so many excellent tales so many " 
 persisted the fellow eagerly. "Romances of Antar 
 and Delemeh you you must stay and listen." 
 
 "Evidently I must stay," observed his lordship 
 ironically, "but that I must listen to your tales, my 
 good man, is not so eh?" This last with a slight 
 change of tone. 
 
 "Fitzgerald!" Whence came the word? From 
 the white bearded lips? It was but a whisper, a 
 breath. The nobleman shifted his position ; he even 
 looked around him. Of course, he must have been 
 mistaken, though he would have sworn that ro- 
 mance-reciter had spoken his name which was 
 manifestly impossible, however. How should one 
 of the vagabonds of the deserts wandering min- 
 strels, truly know him by name? Had some one 
 called from the house ? He glanced in that direction 
 and then toward the driver of the car. The coun- 
 tenance of that person whom his lordship, for want 
 of some one better, had brought with him from
 
 270 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 Cairo showed only concern for the car. He was 
 fussing at some part of the mechanism near his 
 feet. Obviously, he had not heard that spoken name 
 which seemed to float from nowhere. Fitzgerald 
 shrugged, felt in his pocket and tendered something 
 to the aboo, who now, to his lordship's astonishment, 
 had the temerity to edge closer, as if he actually 
 wished to interpose his forward and objectionable 
 person between the departing visitor and his ma- 
 chine. A faint flash of the clear blue eye behind the 
 monocle ! So a star may twinkle on a frosty night. 
 
 "And now, take yourself off, my man!" His 
 lordship could dispose in light and airy but effective 
 fashion of objectionable people when he wanted to. 
 "No further time to waste on you." But this fel- 
 low was not so easily got rid of. He lingered 
 like one of the flies of Egypt and his lordship's 
 voice became more strident : "Don't you hear when 
 you're spoken to, my good " 
 
 Same whisper ! New innumerable wrinkles around 
 the monocle ! Chug ! chug ! The motor again started 
 and stopped. The driver threw up his hands ; then 
 waited for his master to tell him what to do. Per- 
 haps he wondered why his lordship didn't soundly
 
 NEAR THE CITADEU 271 
 
 cuff this beggarly story-reciter and send him about 
 his business. Instead his lordship actually paused 
 and stroked his chin. Of what was his lordship 
 thinking? The driver of the car stirred himself 
 with a motion as near impatience as one of his class 
 dared indulge in, turning his head sidewise toward 
 his master. The latter's fingers had lifted mechan- 
 ically from chin to mustache. Instead of stroking, 
 he was now twirling, absently, nonchalantly. So he 
 might have stood and twirled, leaning against the 
 mantel of his club at home, his expression that of one 
 whose thoughts might be anywhere or nowhere. 
 Some people with that vacuous expression would 
 be credited with a total absence of thought. Others, 
 like his lordship, thought deepest and most pro- 
 foundly behind a facial blank. 
 
 "I say" his lordship bestirred himself as from 
 a profound apathy, at the same time feeling in his 
 coat "must have left my cigar case in my room. 
 Go and see " Calling the driver by name. 
 
 "But did your lordship not have it a few moments 
 ago?" asked the driver in surprise. "I thought I 
 saw your lordship draw it out and " 
 
 "Oh, I mean the other one, the cigarette,"
 
 272 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 The driver shrugged inwardly. He did not un- 
 derstand why he should be sent for a cigarette case 
 when the car needed attention. His primitive mind 
 could not grasp these vagaries of conduct on his 
 master's part. But his not to reason why, so he got 
 out, contenting himself with a sad and reproachful 
 glance toward his lordship to which, however, that 
 person remained quite oblivious. He was still 
 twirling. Only when the door of the house closed 
 on the servant did his fine shapely fingers cease that 
 gentle caressing motion. Then suddenly he turned 
 on the seeming romance-reciter 
 
 "And now will you be good enough to ex- 
 plain?" 
 
 A low chuckle answered. "So you don't remem- 
 ber me?" 
 
 "Who the dev ?" 
 
 The girl was now staring at them both in amaze- 
 ment. She could not understand unless the terrors 
 of that night had turned the dervish's brain, or un- 
 less he had been crazy before. Some dervishes go 
 crazy with holiness. But her dervish did not seem 
 that type. Besides, crazy men do not chuckle like 
 that. And he was speaking English the language
 
 NEAR THE CITADEL 273 
 
 she had spoken way back in her childhood days and 
 later at the mission school perfectly. 
 
 "The last time I saw your lordship, we dined to- 
 gether." 
 
 " What the ?" 
 
 "We had " He began to rattle off the names of 
 dishes. His memory was very good in this respect. 
 He mentioned French names of viands and wines 
 softly, in a tense whisper. No one over at the cit- 
 adel must hear. That frowning fortress might look 
 like a joke, but it wasn't. 
 
 His lordship stood as if an iota of emotion the 
 very smallest, tiniest particle was surging through 
 his brain. "Stanton!" he said. "Jack Stanton!" 
 
 "At your service!" Again that low chuckle. 
 
 The iota seemed to increase, not greatly, but just 
 perceptibly. "By Jove !" said his lordship. 
 
 A 
 
 "The cigarette case is not there, my lord," the 
 driver, returning, announced firmly, as if to estab- 
 lish beyond dispute this momentous fact. At the 
 same time his glance, more aggrieved, swept over the 
 persistent pair. "What! Not gone yet?" he vo- 
 ciferated indignantly. "How dare you continue to
 
 274 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 annoy his lordship?" Then to his master: "Your 
 lordship need only say the word and I will give 
 them the pommeling they deserve " 
 
 His lordship yawned. "Better reserve your 
 strength to overhaul it," indicating the car, "at once. 
 So you will make yourself more useful. You should 
 have seen to it before." 
 
 "It was all right when I brought it here," an- 
 swered the man rather sullenly. 
 
 "No doubt !" Skeptically. "It always is, only it 
 isn't. How long will it take you to put the thing in 
 order?" 
 
 "Three-quarters of an hour, at least. Perhaps an 
 hour." 
 
 "An hour! So be it. No longer! Understand? 
 As for you," regarding the tale-reciter, "I've 
 changed my mind. You may reel off a yarn or two." 
 The seeming story-teller burst forth into a flow of 
 grateful and appreciative Arabic, which the other 
 dryly interrupted. "Come," he said. 
 
 "Well, I'm blowed!" said the native driver ex- 
 plosively. He had picked up a few sailor expres- 
 sions and a good deal of sailor knowledge at Port 
 Said. The trio were going into the house. Tales at
 
 NEAR THE CITADEL 275 
 
 that hour! He thought his master mad. Most Eng- 
 lishmen are. First he wouldn't, then he would. 
 Tales, indeed ? The driver began to tinker. It was 
 a cat-o'-nine-tails he would like to have bestowed 
 upon them.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 "/CIGARETTE, Stanton?" 
 V^I'Thanks." Absently. 
 
 They found themselves now in a comfortable and 
 rather commodious apartment of the building; the 
 two men near an open fireplace, sans fire for the 
 night was warm and the girl in a shadowy cor- 
 ner. Jack Stanton removed the long white beard of 
 the aboo, at the same time glancing restlessly at a 
 clock on the mantel. 
 
 "That time right?" he asked, indicating the hour 
 a little after midnight. 
 
 "As near right as any clock in this town, where 
 you have to compute God's time from Allah's," re- 
 plied the other, filling two glasses. 
 
 "Like reckoning from centigrade to Fahrenheit," 
 said the American. "But I stopped trying to keep 
 track of the hours, until to-night," he went on with 
 a quick glance in the direction of the girl. 
 
 276
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 277 
 
 The other noticed that look. "Good-looking 
 boy!" he observed casually. "Went to to Mecca 
 with you?" In a lower tone. 
 
 "No." Shortly. 
 
 "Recent acquisition, then ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Helps carry out your present role, to trot him 
 along, I suppose ?" remarked the elder man. 
 
 Jack Stanton did not answer; likewise he refused 
 brandy and soda. "Not to-night. Some other 
 time," he murmured absently. 
 
 "Oh, all right." Fitzgerald smoked, waiting for 
 the other to speak, but for several moments the 
 younger man remained silent. There was an in- 
 dentation in his brow that indicated thought, and 
 once or twice he glanced toward the window in 
 front of which stood the car, as if an occasional 
 sound from that direction interested him. 
 
 "Where were you going just now ?" he asked after 
 that pause. 
 
 "Lebanon. Moslem troubles in Europe have 
 somewhat upset the faithful. Things getting rather 
 warm here. Of course it will probably blow over 
 soon, Usually does. Still, I'm not so young and
 
 278 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 adventuresome as I was once, and there's a chance 
 of history repeating itself. Result, another bloody 
 massacre; not mere vaporizing and fireworks. So 
 far, I imagine, it's only been the latter, with a few 
 native Christians' houses burned, etc. To-morrow 
 may be as peaceful as a Scotch Sunday. However, 
 I've begun to get bored or prudent in my old age. 
 You see I'm the only white chap I know of, except 
 yourself and you aren't white, any more left in 
 the old burg." 
 
 "You are sure you can leave, then?" quickly. "You 
 have the special permit to do so?" 
 
 "Of course." Lifting his brows superciliously. 
 "You don't imagine, my dear boy, any one could 
 keep a Briton anywhere, if he didn't want to stay, 
 do you?" 
 
 "I know they can keep an American longer than 
 he wishes to be kept," replied Stanton ruefully. 
 Whereupon Fitzgerald regarded him with a slight 
 interrogation. Stanton, however, only looked once 
 more restlessly at the clock and then toward the 
 window, the shade of which was drawn. Outside, 
 he could hear a faint metallic tapping. "Fitzgerald," 
 he said suddenly, "I've a great favor to ask."
 
 "Ask it." Promptly. 
 
 "Not for myself, though !" 
 
 "Why not for yourself?" Languidly. 
 
 "One condition of our wager was that I should 
 not ask, or accept help from any white man while in 
 this country. So far I've kept to that." 
 
 "Indeed? Speaking of which" the nobleman 
 sipped as unconcernedly as if he were in the grill 
 room of the Carleton, instead of in a veritable vor- 
 tex of hostile seething Mohammedanism "did you 
 get there, as your countrymen say? To Mecca?" 
 
 "Yes, and no." 
 
 "Very lucid. Perhaps you'll explain." 
 
 "Between you and me, personally, I did. Between 
 us, as parties of the wager, I didn't." 
 
 "You mean you didn't get the proof the little 
 prayer book my countryman buried some years ago 
 in one of the sacred walls of the holy city?" 
 
 "I got it, and lost it. I found it all right and 
 then, in a thoughtless moment, left it behind me at 
 a place where I changed my cloak. Oversight, or 
 rank carelessness, you might call it. I I was think- 
 ing of something else." Again he glanced toward 
 the girl.
 
 280 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 She was sitting up very straight now and seemed 
 to gaze upon the two as from a great distance. Per- 
 haps the transition for her was too extraordinary, 
 too unexpected, to permit of her grasping at once 
 all the circumstances pertaining to it. This dervish 
 or Jack Stanton, as he called himself sat there 
 like a total stranger to her. The holy man the 
 supposedly pious Moslem, with the coat of many 
 patches, whom the dyer had found in the court of 
 the mosque what had become of him? Truly he 
 had not been what he seemed, but that he should be 
 what he now seemed or actually was? It was 
 more inexplicable than some tale or fantasy of the 
 imagination fashioned to regale a sultan's whim- 
 sical mood! She forgot her costume, the turban, 
 the boy's cloak, though, after all, the last was not 
 so different from a lady's sebleh. 
 
 "Thinking of something else?" Fitzgerald re- 
 peated the other's words. "Something more im- 
 portant than the wager ?" With a faint inflection of 
 incredulity. 
 
 "Infinitely more important," returned Stanton, 
 with a smile which momentarily brightened the 
 strained expression of his countenance.
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 281 
 
 "Yet your entire fortune was involved in that 
 wager, though had I known it at the time " 
 
 "I beg your pardon !" The young man's tone was 
 momentarily more formal. Then it was succeeded 
 by a franker expression. "And if so? Don't men 
 risk their all every day on the Street that isn't 
 Straight. Dear old dad left me fifty thousand 
 dollars, I mean. You see he served his country bet- 
 ter than himself. I was training with the wrong 
 crowd, the little brothers of the rich, and as long as 
 I couldn't hold up my end, I thought I might as well 
 take a long shot." He arose nervously and walked 
 to the window. Outside now was silence. He 
 seemed more concerned in that than in what he was 
 saying and drew the curtain aside. "Pardon me. 
 Just wanted to see if that fellow was there. Apt to 
 jump their jobs, over here, when things don't go 
 just right. Don't wish to appear officious," apolo- 
 getically, "but " He broke off; there was a nerv- 
 ous glitter in his eye which rather belied the non- 
 chalant bearing. 
 
 "As your lordship remarked just now, the sum 
 was rather large. But you remember you said no 
 American had ever done it!" With an engaging
 
 282 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 smile. "Believe I told you that was because no 
 American had ever thought it worth while trying. 
 Engaged in bigger things, or some such boastful 
 rot ! We'd been having a few, you remember. And 
 then, somehow, it all seemed up to me. Your man- 
 ner was rather English, you know, old chap." Fitz- 
 gerald said nothing, but he was regarding the other 
 attentively, as if he realized in some degree the 
 secret strain his visitor labored under. "Besides, I 
 had a tip from myself that I could turn the trick," 
 he ended after a moment's pause. 
 
 "Ah, yes." Fitzgerald nodded. "Your father 
 was consul-general in a Syrian seaport town and you 
 were born and bred among the followers of Allah, 
 I believe?" 
 
 "Exactly. Knew my Koran at ten years of age. 
 Was a prodigy." He talked though he seemed to 
 take little interest in his words. Quarter after 
 twelve by the clock! Only a quarter of an hour had 
 passed, and twice that interval must elapse before 
 Fitzgerald could hope to be off. Half an hour yet 
 of enforced inactivity ! 
 
 "Yes; ran away from school to loaf in the 
 bazaars," he muttered, and looked, not at his host,
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 283 
 
 but beyond him, while speaking. He had planned it 
 out now, what he was going to do, and what she, too, 
 must do. "Made friends with all the porters, hawk- 
 ers, the fakirs and the rest of that crew in a kid's 
 paradise. Picked up dialects galore. And tales? 
 Just used to drink them in! Then dad was re- 
 called " He broke off abruptly. What irrel- 
 evancy! Though perhaps it had helped that other 
 train of thought, the more serious one. He knew 
 now very clearly too clearly his own course of ac- 
 tion. It was not altogether a pleasant one, but that 
 didn't matter, or shouldn't. He turned suddenly to 
 Fitzgerald with a quick energetic movement of the 
 body. 
 
 "That favor I spoke of?" he said. "I want you, 
 when you leave to-night, to take a passenger with 
 you." 
 
 "Yourself?" 
 
 "We'll I'll think of that, later. I mean this 
 my assistant here." 
 
 "Your boy?" 
 
 "My wife!" 
 
 For the second time that night, the nobleman was 
 betrayed into an exhibition of emotion. This time it
 
 284 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 wasn't a little teeny-weeny exhibition ; he gave not a 
 barely perceptible movement, but a plainly perceptible 
 one. Indeed, that involuntary movement might have 
 been characterized as a start. Lord Fitzgerald 
 started palpably. The monocle even fell from his 
 eye. And it hadn't done that, without its owner 
 deliberately intending it to do so, for years. It was 
 a very misbehaved monocle on this occasion. The 
 nobleman gathered it in his ringers admonishingly, 
 affixed it once more with unusual firmness, and then 
 stared persistently, not to say aggressively, not at 
 the speaker, but at him, or her, indicated by the 
 speaker. 
 
 He saw the girl's face but for one poignant and 
 fleeting instant; the great leather chair in which she 
 sat concealed the lithe figure. Then he didn't see 
 all her face, but only the profile. The dark eyes had 
 met his with a look like that in the eyes of a too 
 venturesome deer that is encountered on the verge 
 of a woody place. The deer would have disappeared 
 into the semi-gloaming and the wild fragrant depths. 
 But the girl could not do that. So she did the next 
 best thing and looked away. An Englishman can 
 have very disconcerting eyes, especially when they
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 285 
 
 are blue, like a cold sea. It was too shadowy in 
 the corner to establish the fact definitely, but in- 
 visible ringers seemed to be dragging rose-leaves 
 across that part of the pale proud face yet displayed 
 to the free, open, questioning, critical, wondering, 
 incredulous gaze of the peer from the snug little isle. 
 Amid that somewhat supposititious tint, like the 
 tender pink of an afterglow, the girl's lips this, 
 also, did not appear quite a positive fact seemed a 
 little unsteady. Maybe, too, her breast moved and 
 she trembled she had had enough to disturb her 
 but if so, the chair (good old English, from Staple, 
 the universal furnisher English sitting-rooms pro- 
 vided anywhere on the globe!) concealed the fact. 
 Those cavernous depths of leather were calculated 
 to hide, conceal or ameliorate any evidence of un- 
 due sensitiveness, thrill, or excitation of feeling on 
 the part of any one. That was because it was a 
 British chair in a British sitting-room. The turban 
 looked piquant enough, in that austere setting, but 
 she was not of the piquant order. 
 
 Fitzgerald yawned out of revenge for the start 
 he had been betrayed into. The window-pane in 
 his eye was now like any other window-pane, calm
 
 286 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 and immovable. It had recovered its wonted im- 
 passiveness. It was glassy (ought to be!) and re- 
 flected objects on its outer surface. He who looked 
 into it, or attempted to do so, saw only these super- 
 ficial reflections. Stanton got up and crossed to the 
 big chair. 
 
 "Mind waiting here a moment?" he asked softly. 
 "There's something I'd like to say to his lordship 
 privately." 
 
 She did not answer; his hand trailed over the 
 back of the luxurious leather, touched caressingly, 
 though swiftly, the girl's cloak, then he went out. 
 Still she did not move ; that chair, like a great black 
 sarcophagus, seemed to have swallowed her. 
 
 Jack Stanton returned alone to the room where 
 she was. Fitzgerald had gone out to superintend 
 and hasten, if possible, the operations of the native 
 driver. The young man now spoke cheerfully. It 
 was all arranged. Everything had turned out 
 beautifully. Couldn't be better! He had told his 
 lordship a little something about her history and 
 his lordship had committed himself unqualifiedly 
 to her cause. Fitzgerald had expressed an opinion 
 about Amad, and Mohammedans in general, and it
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 287 
 
 was not a flattering one. The nobleman's presence 
 was most opportune ; it was providential ; he would 
 save her. 
 
 The young man paused to look at her now, a cer- 
 tain exhilaration in his gaze. He had a few mo- 
 ments to spare ; Fitzgerald had promised to toot the 
 horn the moment the car was ready. The girl had 
 listened quietly with strange bright lights in the 
 deep dark eyes, but she had answered nothing; she 
 had not demurred. How could she? She had to 
 leave the city that night without fail, and here was a 
 way, a safe one. 
 
 As Fitzgerald's personal servant, or Arab boy 
 his own had deserted him at the first talk of trouble 
 no one would question her presence in the car, 
 Stanton again went on. The nobleman's permit read : 
 "His lordship So and So, etc., accompanied by his 
 servants," and it was signed by the governor him- 
 self. The gates would fly open before it, or the 
 soldiers, guarding the exits, would step aside like 
 magic at sight of the name of the high dignitary. 
 
 After all, that costume she wore would serve 
 some purpose, he remarked with an attempt at joc- 
 ularity, although not the purpose he had expected.
 
 288 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 Not theirs to be two vagabonds of the highway, to 
 sing or dance their way along, in right merry ro- 
 mantic fashion ! She had played and sung only one 
 song, but he would remember it. Of course he was 
 sorry she had to go as a servant, but it would only 
 be for a very short time. Besides, empresses as well 
 as princesses (playfully) had escaped from palaces, 
 or cities, in humble disguise. Only the last century 
 one of the former had been glad to flee with a den- 
 tist. She, his princess of his thousand and second 
 night (with a laugh) was at last fleeing with a peer 
 of the realm. Said peer had also kindly promised 
 to entrust her to the missionaries upon reaching 
 the seaport town about to-morrow night. Those 
 missionairies would never give her up now; her 
 safety was assured with them. She would have a 
 long run, but it would be a pleasant one, through 
 a delightful country, after a fine exhilarating climb 
 among the Biblical cedars. 
 
 His eyes had glowed though he did not feel glad, 
 in one way, as he told her all this. 
 
 "You you, too It is providential for you, 
 also," she said. She was standing near him now, 
 very near,
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 289 
 
 "Yes, of course." His tones were practical and 
 matter-of-fact. No use of calling her attention to 
 the impracticability of his accompanying them! He. 
 the romance-reciter would only emphasize by his 
 presence the danger of their detecting her. With 
 so many things to think of it had not yet occurred to 
 her that it might be difficult to account for a ro- 
 mance-reciter in the car. Besides he had other rea- 
 sons for wishing to remain reasons that he had 
 communicated to Lord Fitzgerald. That last per- 
 son had called him a madman and bestowed upon 
 him a few other friendly, unflattering epithets but 
 never mind! Jack Stanton always went ahead in 
 his own way. 
 
 "Of course," he repeated, this time more absently. 
 He was striving not to be too inordinately cognizant 
 of those wonderful eyes and the sweet enticing lips. 
 Never had the former seemed so wonderful or the 
 latter so sweet as now. They seemed to sing not of 
 El Genneh but El Genseh, lost, the garden unat- 
 tained. He felt a sudden heart hunger, something 
 sharper and keener, even, than that other appetite a 
 healthy young pilgrim may develop in the barren 
 waste places, and looked away. "Mighty lucky !" he
 
 290 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 murmured in what were intended to be accents of 
 blithe satisfaction. 
 
 She was regarding him in a troubled way. "Are 
 there any others in Damascus who know what I do 
 now?" she asked suddenly. 
 
 "Maybe. One or two." Indifferently. He was 
 not thinking of them now. 
 
 "And that you have been to Mecca?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 She stood very straight and still as if thinking. 
 "You should have told me how necessary it was for 
 you to" leave the city," she remonstrated gently with 
 him at length. 
 
 "Not worth bothering about!" he murmured 
 rather weakly. 
 
 The dark brows drew together slightly. "You 
 should have told me you should," she repeated, 
 with a touch of her old imperiousness. "I did not, 
 of course, realize all it meant to you, when I asked 
 you that what I did, at my house," she went on 
 rather hurriedly. "I see now all all that it did 
 mean." 
 
 He tried to think of an answer. Just the adequate 
 one wasn't forthcoming. "Don't think of it!" he 
 compromised by saying.
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 291 
 
 "You you even once let me say you might be a 
 coward,", she challenged him. 
 
 "Did I? Maybe, under certain circumstances, I 
 might-" 
 
 "It was brave ! and and chivalrous !" the flash- 
 ing red lips said. And the wonderful eyes seemed 
 to repeat the words. 
 
 It quite took his breath away. He shifted. Also, 
 he flushed painfully. And yet she spoke as if not 
 to him, but to herself. He might have, at that mo- 
 ment, been very distant from her. She was not 
 bombarding him with open flattery or crude praise. 
 At least, she was not intending to. Indeed, she 
 seemed scarcely to see him. 
 
 "Though why ?" The dark eyes still looked at 
 him and yet beyond. Her brow was perplexed. 
 "Why should you, afterward ?" She paused. She 
 did look at him now. Disconcerting depths of ques- 
 tioning eyes! 
 
 "Why?" He understood what she meant. Why 
 should he have lingered in Damascus, afterward? 
 He might have got out before the uprising. At 
 least, he might have made the attempt. Instead, he 
 had lingered, inexplicably, foolishly according to 
 the point of view. "Why?" The bright turban
 
 292 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 danced before his eyes. Anomalous little turban! 
 Framing not a boy's but a girl's lips a girl's eyes! 
 That lad's cloak, too! it seemed to mock him; 
 f utilely to attempt to deceive him him ! He smiled 
 scoffingly. Again he heard the nightingale's song 
 he stepped toward her. 
 
 "Why?" The word reiterated like a thunder- 
 ous echo from a great mountainside. Almost had 
 he answered her, not discreetly, circumspectly, but 
 madly, passionately; almost had he told her 
 sweeping her to him close! dose! when 
 
 Honk! honk! resounded outside. The horrible 
 squawk froze the words on his lips. What sixty or 
 seventy horse-power crow had alighted in his para- 
 dise? His arms fell to his side. He smiled rather 
 feebly. Then he side-stepped. The archaic wild 
 dervish vanished; the irresponsible nomad receded. 
 The gentleman an artificial production, perhaps, 
 but useful on occasions looked out of his eyes. 
 
 "Time to go," he said quietly. 
 
 Honk! honk! 
 
 Stanton winced. "Why the deuce doesn't Fitz- 
 gerald get one of those Gabriel trumpets?" he mut- 
 tered.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE BRAZIER 
 
 WELL, she was gone. The car had whirled 
 away. And only at the last moment had 
 she suddenly realized that Jack Stanton, alias the 
 dervish, did not intend to accompany them. Per- 
 haps, too, at the same moment there may have oc- 
 curred to her the reason thereof, or one of the rea- 
 sons why he did not go. Standing in the shadow 
 on the other side of the walk, so as not to seem too 
 conspicuously interested in the proceedings, should 
 any passers-by approach, the dervish saw the girl 
 start as the driver closed the doors of the car. He 
 saw, too, that involuntarily she half arose. But 
 at the same instant the driver reached forward, and 
 the car, under his none too skilful manipulation, 
 had literally leaped forward. She looked around; 
 an instant his strained gaze received the impression 
 of a white face and startled eyes, then the car turned 
 a corner. 
 
 293
 
 294 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 How long ago was that ? A minute, or five min- 
 utes? Or ten? At any rate, there was no use in 
 standing there any longer and slowly he turned 
 away. Alone! Well, the sensation of loneliness 
 should not be a novel one to a man who had slept 
 nights and nights on the sands. But even the soli 
 tude of the desert was not like unto this solitiv 1 
 However, nothing gained by thinking of it! ti 
 squared his shoulders and marched on. Then he 
 stopped once more, overwhelmed by something he 
 hadn't thought of before. 
 
 He must be sure know know to a certainty, 
 she had actually been able to leave the city, that she 
 was out there, at this moment, in the Garden of 
 Eden, speeding away with another. There was 
 a possibility that the motor might have broken down 
 once more, or or that some other unforeseen mis- 
 fortune had arisen. 
 
 He accelerated his pace to the nearest exit, the 
 one the nobleman had said he would leave by. 
 There, his half fears were at once alleviated. The 
 car had gone out, some ten or fifteen minutes ago. 
 She was safe! safe! No doubt of it. The words 
 rang through his brain. Amad could never again
 
 THE BRAZIER 295 
 
 reach her, to persecute her. She was beyond his 
 power and machinations. Allah be praised! 
 
 "Ten or fifteen minutes ago!" That meant they 
 were miles from the city wall by now, and going 
 fast! Right through, or across, the mythical place 
 of primeval bliss, the original seat of this sometime 
 joyous world. And on a comparatively virgin road 
 for motorists ! No constables to stop them ; no one 
 to arrest them for speeding; no glass strewn on the 
 way. Paradise in that respect is still paradise. An 
 up-to-date one! He looked out over the blissful 
 prospect. Not much to see. Too dark ! But he got 
 a whiff of the country those nice smells that are 
 the lineal descendants of the ambrosial odors of 
 the poets. He could and did take a good sniff 
 of them. It was the next best thing to being in 
 paradise himself. It was probably as near as he 
 would get to it for some time. He had business, 
 for the present, in the "other place," or back there 
 in the city which in some respects might remind one 
 of the other place. 
 
 So he turned away, after murmuring something 
 for the benefit of the soldiers he had questioned 
 about canines of Englishmen who went away and
 
 296 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY! 
 
 forgot to reimburse poor romance-reciters they had 
 employed for the entertainment of guests. He voiced 
 this pretext with an attempt at woeful accents. 
 "Gone!" He strove to wail, but it was not easy, 
 with his heart athrill. He retreated quickly from 
 the neighborhood now, plunging straight into the 
 heart of the city. Overhead the clouds were darker ; 
 that sickly glow was gone. Had the fanatics wearied 
 of their work? The city, too, seemed quieter, for 
 the moment, though it might be but the quiet before 
 another storm. At any rate, he felt safe enough. 
 His now was the assurance of the faithful (tight- 
 rope walkers into heaven) who, by faith, are sup- 
 posed to be able to cross Es Sirat, that bridge finer 
 than a hair and sharper than a sword, spanning 
 Gehenna, the Arabian pit. He did not at the 
 moment conceive of danger to himself. Why should 
 he? As a romance-reciter, no one would question 
 him. Her, they might have recognized, but him, 
 and alone, they would not know ; he could carry out 
 the role successfully unless? 
 
 A sudden misgiving disturbed his aplomb. The 
 strolling players might tell, under certain circum- 
 stances, how a mad reckless fellow had forced those
 
 THE BRAZIER 297 
 
 / 
 
 costumes from tHem. For a moment his figurative 
 bridge wavered and wobbled. Then he came once 
 more to a balance. He even shrugged fatalistically. 
 He had to take that risk. No way of getting around 
 it! Dismissing consideration of unpleasant and 
 disagreeable contingencies for pleasant and agree- 
 able reveries, he went on. He let the future take 
 care of itself, it was the past now that claimed his 
 thoughts if a period of forty-eight hours or so 
 may be dignified by the epochal word. But it was 
 the past for him. All the rest did not seem to 
 matter. It was irrelevant, trifling and could be dis- 
 missed with a snap of the fingers. 
 
 An impression he had received that day in front of 
 the pastry-shop and which he had thought no more 
 about, recurred to him now, oddly and forcibly. She 
 did not look or seem like one of Mohammedan par- 
 entage. So instinct had whispered when he had 
 held her a few palpitating seconds in his arms. She 
 was too fine, subtle, poetic, romantic too every- 
 thing that doesn't enter into the coarser fiber and 
 make-up of the woman or girl of that country and 
 faith. For the first time he found himself actually 
 pondering thereon, though somewhat laboriously.
 
 298 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 The dyer, imbibing impiously and too well, had let 
 fall a few mysterious words concerning her par- 
 entage that night before the wedding, when he had 
 treated the new-found and half -starved bridegroom- 
 to-be in the little cafe around the corner. The young 
 man had scarcely listened, at the time ; he was inter- 
 ested in the commestibles, and not in his future 
 "wife!" She had meant nothing to him then. 
 Nothing ! Fancy that ! He tried now to bring back 
 what the dyer had ambiguously sputtered, or splut- 
 tered, over potations, but he didn't succeed very 
 well. Something about the girl's own mother ? the 
 Greeks ? the Rumanians ? or had it been the stal- 
 wart and romantic Montenegrins? 
 
 He gave it up. Hunger, instead of curiosity, had 
 occupied him when he might have sounded the 
 dyer further. Another good old Sherlock, for 
 example in his place, on that occasion, would have 
 scented something wrong in Denmark, or Damascus, 
 and started at once deducting or deducing, instead 
 of introducing mere warak mahde, khiyar and other 
 outlandish species of viands into his system. He, 
 Jack Stanton, alias the dervish, should have divined 
 immediately a romance and a mystery and proceeded
 
 THE BRAZIER 299 
 
 accordingly with Machiavellian circumlocution and 
 caution.; instead he had only plunged into the game 
 blindly, haphazardly, a veritable football of for- 
 tune, or misfortune, as the events of this night would 
 decide. And, considering what lay before him and 
 the absence of those peculiar gifts of the popular 
 investigator, the latter was not unlikely. 
 
 For all the rather chaotic trend of his thoughts, 
 he had been moving on, not aimlessly, but as if 
 bent upon some destination and going the shortest 
 way to it. Passing through a covered portion of a 
 bazaar, he came upon a number of fruit stalls; these 
 he rapidly left behind him. The shadow of a great 
 tree cast its black outlines momentarily before him, 
 but he forgot to pause and murmur the customary 
 pious words at the sight of the sylvan monarch, 
 planted at the birth of the revered Mohammed. In- 
 stead he plunged at once into a small lane, at the 
 end of which were well-known and historic bazaars, 
 where all the artisans, plying a certain trade, were 
 congregated and huddled up together. On busy days 
 they stitched and stitched and waxed their threads in 
 a kind of wearisome unison. They looked more or 
 less alike and were set in almost identical back-
 
 300 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 grounds. So they had appeared a thousand years, 
 or more, ago, and so they would appear, if left to 
 follow their own bent, a thousand years, or more, 
 hence. A funereal silence now pervaded the quarter ; 
 the bright backgrounds were blanks; the workers 
 had, for the most part, receded long ago into the 
 mysterious abysms at the backs of their shops or 
 booths. Maybe a few of them were abroad with the 
 other hoodlums and had not yet returned home. 
 
 Passing noiselessly back and forth amid the lim- 
 ited confines of this ill-lighted neighborhood, Jack 
 Stanton scrutinized and studied, as best he might, 
 a number of shop-fronts, particularly the larger and 
 more pretentious ones. Half a dozen of the latter 
 he had carefully gazed upon and apparently to no 
 purpose, when finally he again stopped. A few 
 Arabic characters over the entrance to this place 
 he made out with difficulty, but they seemed to sat- 
 isfy him, to be what he was looking for. 
 
 Casting burglarious glances up and down the nar- 
 row way, he tried now the door and found it, of 
 course, locked. The lock, though, was of wood, and 
 the sliding bolt, with tiny pins set in it, of the same 
 material. A modern expert in opening doors
 
 THE BRAZIER 301 
 
 house, or safe would have chortled with glee over 
 that lock. It was antediluvian, paleo/oic. True, it 
 would keep out our camels, or dromedaries. But as 
 for people ? Perhaps it was supposed to exercise a 
 mere moral effect upon them. Stanton applied a 
 knife; he was not an expert, but he managed to 
 slide the bolt back. The door yielded and he en- 
 tered. 
 
 In the interior of the shop, quietude reigned. He 
 listened. Not a sound ! Quietly he closed the door 
 and slid back the bolt. Then he began to make his 
 way through a litter of dark objects, some hanging 
 and some on the floor, when the woodwork creaked 
 loudly and again he paused. But still he heard 
 nothing to alarm him and once more went forward 
 toward a tiny streak of yellow. In the rear of the 
 shop he found a dim light, as he looked in between 
 low hanging draperies before entering. Drawing 
 the curtains closely together after him, so the light 
 should not be visible to any who might pass in front 
 of the shop, he ventured to turn up the wick of the 
 small hanging lamp. It cast brighter reflections 
 upon the cheap draperies and the thick rugs in the 
 small room and metamorphosed dim shapeless ob-
 
 302 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 jects into pistol holders, straps, stirrups and saddles, 
 highly embroidered, heaped up, or hanging, an over- 
 flow of wares from without. 
 
 The intruder did not lay a pillaging finger on 
 this fair and goodly array of merchandise; indeed, 
 he hardly glanced at it, or saw it only as a part of 
 the whole. Yet his swift anxious looks swept every 
 part of that chamber. He looked on shelves and 
 under rugs; he peered into corners; he felt in out 
 of the way places. He glanced in jugs and jars; 
 he turned a mibkara (perfume vessel) upside down. 
 He shook an empty big-mouthed water-bottle; he 
 examined all the cushions thoroughly; he unrolled 
 a mattress and felt every part of it. He tossed the 
 mattress aside. Then, having only his labor for his 
 pains, he sat down and looked thoughtful. 
 
 His opportunity was now he would probably 
 never have another chance and yet only failure 
 had rewarded his efforts. Since mere visual ac- 
 tivity, supplemented by eager and nimble fingers, 
 had not been productive of results, he tried to reason 
 the thing out, to concentrate every mental faculty 
 in the process. 
 
 What he sought was really valuable only to him.
 
 THE BRAZIER 303 
 
 It meant little to them ; true, it might be deemed a 
 link in the chain of evidence against him, but, after 
 all, it was an unnecessary one now. It had satisfied 
 Sadi, had served to crystallize his suspicions, but in 
 itself to them? Why, there were prayer-books 
 and prayer-books, galore ; you could find them even 
 in the Christian quarter in that conservative old city 
 itself. Their proof, par excellence, of his "crime," 
 in their eyes the one proof, incontrovertible, of 
 the same was the man himself. Let them catch 
 him, produce him, tear off his cloak, and the rest 
 would be simple. His skin would proclaim the 
 truth, for it was unlikely the dye extended much 
 beyond face, shoulders, and hands and arms, and if 
 it did, it could easily be washed off or removed. 
 
 All this being so, how would the saddler now 
 regard the little article Stanton had lost, and, what 
 was more important, what would Sadi do with it? 
 Would he keep it, would he hide it, would he give 
 it to Amad, or another course of action, in this 
 connection suggested itself. 
 
 That object, for all true believers, possessed, 
 definitely and unqualifiedly, deleterious and injuri- 
 ous attributes. The mere personal possession of it
 
 304 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 might bring all manner of ill-luck, or trouble, for 
 thus strongly does superstition reign in the minds 
 of these people. Iblees, spirits, the evil eye, bad 
 genii and what-not, are real menaces to them. They 
 murmur proprietary words on many occasions 
 "Allah akbar!" and work out a score of charms. 
 When they do not work them out themselves, they 
 have others work them out for them and pay for 
 this task. 
 
 Now, it might be, Sadi would not continue 
 to keep such an object on his person, to permit it to 
 rub its pernicious pages against those of his precious 
 Koran. But Amad for the same reason would not 
 want it in his house. A train of untoward events, 
 once started, is not easy to stop, and an English 
 prayer-book that has reposed, undetected for a long 
 while, even in the holiest city itself, should be han- 
 dled with tongs. That such profanation had been 
 possible proved it a veritable instrument of the devil, 
 a malicious child of the sheytans, or black ones, 
 themselves. No, Sadi would not run the risk of 
 carrying it long, if Stanton was any judge of Mo- 
 hammedan character. Perhaps the saddler would 
 put it in his tiny safe, in that outer office ? And so
 
 THE BRAZIER 305 
 
 cause his gold to turn into filthy piasters, or vanish 
 altogether? Hardly! 
 
 The eye of the young man, half -introspective, 
 chanced to rest on a mankal, or brazier. He hardly 
 knew he was looking at it, but subconsciously, his 
 regard deepened. Then, consciously, he became 
 aware of the fact and suddenly he got up and walked 
 over to the copper receptacle. A few flakes of dead 
 ashes yet smelled of frankincense, and he swept 
 them aside. Whereupon an exclamation fell from 
 his lips and he snatched at something, or part of 
 something. Charred paper that's what it was! 
 All that remained of the little volume! His brain 
 leaped rapidly, irrevocably, to the conclusion. The 
 saddler had procured from a fakir the customary 
 dyed salts, certain seeds, and a few chips of fra- 
 grant bark, and had had a little incantation scene 
 all to himself while consigning the prayer-book to 
 the coals. 
 
 The young man stared blankly at the ashes that 
 had once been paper, and the moment was a bitter 
 one for him. He had lost, and he had an especial 
 reason for wanting to win now. Intact, or reason- 
 ably so, the little volume would have meant ten
 
 306 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 thousand pounds to him. Nay, more! For now 
 that this souvenir of his pilgrimage was practically 
 destroyed, he would be out his own ten thousand 
 pounds, his all. He shook his head sadly. One 
 hundred thousand dollars! It seemed a lot of 
 money enough to start housekeeping with, if 
 one was lucky enough to find a wife a real 
 one not a pretended one. With that hundred 
 thousand, he might have had more courage to hope ; 
 to woo and win, to have and to hold. Incidentally, 
 to provide! Of course, love laughs at poverty, and 
 very properly. But it would not be easy to tell her 
 what a confounded ass he had been how he had 
 lost his little all to say: "Behold! I have re- 
 duced myself to nothing- Share it." That would 
 be magnanimous, generous ! A fine courtship ! He 
 had wedded her before as a tramp. He didn't 
 have to play at the role now. It fitted him to a 
 nicety, was the heritage of his own efforts. 
 
 Well, she was in good hands, at least, he could 
 tell himself. Fitzgerald would look to it that she 
 was well taken care of and that justice would be 
 done. The nobleman would like nothing better than
 
 THE BRAZIER 307 
 
 to see to that. He might even hope to dig out of 
 the situation some kind of political leverage. Eng- 
 lishmen have a genius for doing that. Allah be 
 praised this influential peer would be interested, 
 Stanton repeated to himself again, but at the same 
 time sighed. He felt, as never before, his own in- 
 sufficiency. He even so humble had he become 
 before the catastrophe of the prayer-book! saw 
 himself eliminated, cut off, then and there, forever, 
 as far as she was concerned. What right had such 
 a bally bungler as he to hope ? None in the world ! 
 Disgusted, he was about to turn away from the 
 brazier and leave the place, when the impulse was 
 abruptly arrested. From outside, he caught sud- 
 denly the sound of footsteps Sadi's? Stanton 
 drew himself up and stood listening. He heard the 
 bolt slide back, and peering between the curtains 
 he saw the saddler enter. The fact did not greatly 
 disturb him. Abruptly he realized that Sadi, some- 
 how, didn't interest him so much as formerly. 
 Sadi's sudden entrance ought to have given him a 
 great thrill, an enormous shock. Instead, he ex- 
 perienced almost a mild ennui. Damascus, the sad-
 
 308 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 dler all the rest of them, the whole pack, rather 
 bored him now. The breathless excitement of but 
 a short time ago was gone. Why? Because she 
 had gone? Was that it? He waited for Sadi to see 
 him and speak. He anticipated his action. Of 
 course, he would start back. 
 
 He did. He, Sadi, was not bored. He felt no 
 ennui at the moment. The situation had for him 
 no yawns. There was nothing soporific about it; 
 his eyes seemed to bulge. He paled; that is, his 
 complexion receded to a sickly yellow. Alarm, be- 
 wilderment, enlightenment succeeded one another on 
 his eloquent visage. 
 
 "The masquerading Christian who went to 
 Mecca!" he stammered. 
 
 Stanton smiled, almost ingratiatingly. So Sadi 
 knew him. In spite of the costume of the romance- 
 reciter! He had not probably jumped to a conclu- 
 sion who he was, merely because he had discovered 
 him in his humble mandarah. The Hebrew players 
 must have told ; they had, perhaps, found it to their 
 advantage to do so. 
 
 "Come in," said Stanton, with the manners of a 
 host. At that moment he felt no special enmity
 
 THE BRAZIER 309 
 
 against the other. The mischief had been done. No 
 use kicking against the pricks. A man who has 
 lost sometimes experiences a gentle magnanimity 
 toward the world, even for his enemies therein. 
 Perhaps the emotion bears some relation to "that 
 tired feeling."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ONE WAY 
 
 SADI would have obeyed the other's invitation, 
 but not in the manner it was extended. He 
 showed a disposition to behave like unto the pro- 
 verbial bull in the china shop. He looked as if he 
 wanted to toss things around, Stanton included. 
 Indeed, he started forward to do so, then suddenly 
 stopped. Stanton stifled a yawn. 
 
 "Good!" he said. "Too small a place to muss 
 around in! Might destroy some of the bric-a-brac." 
 
 The saddler looked at him; or rather, at a small 
 glittering object Stanton had, at the last moment, 
 insisted upon the players giving him for good 
 measure a mere trifle from one of the magic 
 bundles that had contained a small armament of 
 cheap weapons. That little plaything Stanton now 
 handled carelessly; it had occurred to him it might 
 serve for moral effect in certain exigencies. One 
 such exigency was now. For how was Sadi to 
 
 310
 
 ONE WAY 311 
 
 know it was a stage property, that it wasn't loaded, 
 and maybe wouldn't have gone off if it had been, or 
 if it had been and had gone off, it would probably 
 have blown up the shooter? 
 
 The saddler paused with an ugly grimace that 
 did not improve the appearance of his somewhat bat- 
 tered countenance. Stanton waved the weapon. 
 
 "Go away," he said nonchalantly. "Or if you 
 must remain, don't get boisterous." 
 
 Sadi glowered. When a man waits for you in 
 your own house, he does so, of course, but for one 
 purpose. And when the intruder told him to go 
 away, he implied that he preferred to shoot him 
 through the back. It would be safer, and was the 
 favorite mode of assassination. Sadi refused 
 though to turn around; he preferred to be shot in 
 front. Cowardice was not one of his weaknesses. 
 Perhaps if the first bullet didn't strike home, he 
 might manage to slit the other's throat. He breathed 
 a pious request to Allah, the Compassionate, that 
 this gentle wish might come true. Stanton was 
 contemplating him now in a far-away, non-anxious 
 manner that implied disconcerting confidence in his 
 weapon and his ability to cope with the situation.
 
 312 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Why did you have to intrude?" he asked re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 The tremendous effrontery of the question seemed 
 to stagger Sadi. He looked around on his own 
 household goods, his own wares, the result of his 
 own toil, and doubts began to flitter in his brain. 
 Was the fellow a madman, or an offshoot of the 
 devil, one of those black spirits that dwell in the 
 chain of mountains called Kaf ? Certainly enough 
 mischief had followed in the wake of this mustahall 
 to justify the belief he might be one of those deni- 
 zens from the cavernous depths who, according to 
 tradition, visits cities and homes, just to create dis- 
 sensions, and yes, make love to other men's wives 
 with a felicity that is more human than superhuman. 
 
 Instinctively Sadi murmured the mystical "de- 
 stoor" the two syllables that are always efficacious 
 with spirits and never fail to cause them to evapo- 
 rate. But still the other did not vanish from his 
 fireside, or the side of his brazier. That, at least, 
 was reassuring. Besides, a spirit wouldn't have to 
 borrow clothes from poor strollers; he could just 
 will himself to look any part he pleased, from beg- 
 gar to heart-breaker. The saddler did fear spirits ;
 
 ONE WAY 313 
 
 having established in his own mind that his visitor 
 was not one, his courage revived rapidly. 
 
 "What do you want ?" he now demanded savagely. 
 Of course he knew what the other wanted, he 
 wanted him. But he asked the question, anyhow. 
 
 "I don't want anything now," answered the visitor 
 gently. 
 
 The saddler's brain juggled with this reply. He 
 couldn't make anything of it. That annoyed him. 
 
 "I did want something," went on the other. "But 
 there's no use crying for the moon!" 
 
 More mystification! Sadi opened and closed his 
 big fists aggressively. Stanton, behind that care- 
 less manner, now watched him narrowly. "Ten 
 shots, half a second delivery!" he murmured, apos- 
 trophizing his weapon. "The burglar's antipathy! 
 That's what it's called in the advertisements." His 
 cheerful eyes yet held Sadi at a distance. But they 
 wouldn't long; nor the weapon, either! The sad- 
 dler was hesitating ; his face was dark as a thunder- 
 cloud. The other felt it coming Sadi would call 
 his play. 
 
 "What have you done with her?" now burst from 
 him aggressively.
 
 3 i4 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Suppose we leave the lady out of the question! 
 And now" as well get it over! "what is it to be, 
 peace or war? Up to you to decide. I was going 
 when you came." 
 
 "Oh, you were?" With brutal incredulity. "You 
 weren't waiting for me, then ?" 
 
 "No, my friend! And even now, though I might 
 slay you as a sheep at the sacrifice, I will spare you 
 if you will be good!" 
 
 "Perhaps you weren't expecting me?" Sadi's 
 eyes shone with low cunning. 
 
 "I did not expect the pleasure." Stifling a yawn, 
 real or affected. "I did not come to get you, but it. 
 You, as an individual, are nothing to me. It would 
 not grieve me if you lived to be as old as Methuse- 
 lah. I don't want your money or your life. All I 
 do want or did" glancing swiftly toward the 
 brazier "was my own property. Something you 
 deprived me of a little prayer-book " Sadi sud- 
 denly raised a hand to his breast. 
 
 "What !" Stanton's voice now rang out sharply, 
 in accents of surprise. "So much for deduction! 
 You've got it. You've actually got it. You haven't 
 destroyed it " The saddler did not answer. "I'll
 
 ONE WAY 315 
 
 trouble you for that book," went on the young 
 man in that same different tone. "And at once!" 
 He held the property weapon now pointed straight 
 at Sadi's heart. His manner was brusk and deter- 
 mined. It might succeed ; it might win out ; it was 
 a final attempt. It would, no doubt, have prevailed 
 with many, but not with the saddler. Those changed 
 accents on the contrary, acted upon him as a red 
 flag on a bull ; the saddler made a rush, whipping as 
 he did so, a long blade from his cloak. Stanton 
 saw him coming and raised the arm with the futile 
 weapon. He brought it down violently, not on Sadi ; 
 the property pistol struck the lamp overhead. Bits 
 of glass fell around them, and in the darkness that 
 ensued Sadi came up against a hard wall. That 
 jarred him violently, but he recovered in an instant, 
 and rushed toward the front door; the fellow must 
 not get out. He was not trying to. A moment the 
 saddler waited expectantly. Farther back now he 
 heard the other, then nearer, as if circling toward 
 him. Sadi followed the sound and sprang toward 
 it, striking striking. Now the other was in a 
 corner. Allah! What joy! The saddler tasted in 
 advance the pleasures of paradise. His turn had
 
 316 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 come at last. The sharp blade no longer fanned the 
 air. It came in contact with a palpable but yield- 
 ing substance. It sank in. Elysium! The angels 
 (or hour is) sang. Was that a groan? For Sadi, it 
 was like the sweetest strain from the harp of the 
 angel, Israfil. 
 
 The saddler stood still to listen. The groan was 
 repeated. Then silence! The fellow was down. 
 He did not even use his weapon ; it must be he was 
 unable to. Not long ago the saddler had felt the 
 boot. Now the boot was on the other leg. Injuries, 
 old and new, would be atoned for. Sadi waited. 
 Then his taunting voice arose. He exhausted the 
 vocabulary of a camel-driving dialect. Still no an- 
 swer; no sound only that of his own hoarse 
 breathing. Yet stay! he did catch a barely per- 
 ceptible swishing, as of a body dragging itself along 
 the floor. The fellow spoke now in a faint voice 
 a plea for mercy? The saddler would show 
 him that oh, yes. Those tones again guided the 
 other, but this time, the dog of a Christian seemed 
 like water flowing through the hand. It was im- 
 possible to seize him. Nor could Sadi's blade again 
 find him. But he, stepping swiftly aside, had evi-
 
 ONE WAY 317 
 
 dently located the saddler for the latter felt a rush 
 of air. Then suddenly music became discord. It 
 was as if the house had fallen down, or the world 
 had been rent asunder. And in that general cata- 
 clysm subsequent proceedings interested Sadi no 
 more. 
 
 A man appeared at the door of the saddler's 
 shop a few moments later, and after peering in 
 either direction, stepped out, closing the door behind 
 him. Stanton walked uncertainly though quickly, 
 being anxious to leave the neighborhood behind him 
 as soon as possible. Before he had gone far, how- 
 ever, he felt obliged to stop, at a dark angle of the 
 street, to bind up as well as he could, with a scarf 
 snatched from the shop, a deep and nasty gash on his 
 shoulder. Even as he did so he became aware of a 
 certain faintness stealing over him. Yet behind this 
 feeling that other one of exhilaration predominated. 
 
 He had it his proof that he had been to Mecca 
 that tiny volume, which was as valuable to him 
 as a wonderful diamond. He was a hundred 
 thousand dollar vagabond now, a veritable king 
 of beggars. The thought buoyed his footsteps; he
 
 318 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 forgot weakness, or fought it down. He seemed 
 like one walking in a wild dream. But it was not 
 an unpleasant one on the contrary. He found 
 himself actually enjoying this after-midnight prom- 
 enade, in a strange kind of way. He didn't know 
 whether he had killed Sadi or not. He didn't much 
 care. He had struck him with the pot of brass, the 
 saddler's perfume jug, or heating apparatus. He 
 had smote Sadi with his own "fireside," rather an 
 ironical procedure, but a necessary one. The sad- 
 dler's skull was thick though and he might survive 
 to make himself a nuisance, perhaps, some day, to 
 some other Christian. That lay with Providence. 
 
 An irresponsible feeling of momentary triumph 
 on Stanton's part became abruptly shadowed. An- 
 other thought, or question, disconcerting, baffling, 
 had occurred to him. What service would that book 
 or little souvenir be to him, when he couldn't get out 
 of the city ? He paused and leaned against the wall 
 of a house; he realized he felt more giddy, a bit 
 light-headed. What a mockery of fate if he yielded 
 to growing weakness now, with that key to success, 
 under propitious circumstances, right in his hand. 
 "Success!" he repeated longingly, the while he
 
 ONE WAY 319 
 
 gripped the tiny object tighter. Then his mind 
 seemed to drift somewhat from pertinent considera- 
 tions ; his brain seemed capable of queer little lapses. 
 He chuckled sardonically, incongruously. Some- 
 thing tickled his funny-bone. 
 
 To think that this little thing in his fist had been 
 buried so long in a holy wall, in the holy city ! And 
 yet it was said Englishmen had so sense of humor. 
 An autobiography of his little souvenir would be 
 good enough for Punch. An English prayer-book, 
 high church, in the sacred masonry; almost at the 
 foot of the tomb of the Prophet, himself! Stan- 
 ton would have liked to meet the son of the tight 
 little isle who had thought out that jokelet; all 
 by himself. Had it been Ruffianly Dick, he of the 
 "unabridged?" Fitzgerald had told him when they 
 two had arranged details in old Manhattan town. 
 Stanton tried to think but caught himself up with 
 a jerk. 
 
 The idea of cudgeling his brain, or clogging it, 
 with inconsequential minutiae at such a moment! 
 His thoughts now focused steadily on that element 
 in the situation revealed by the coming of Sadi. 
 Prior to this second brief but spirited interview
 
 320 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 with the saddler, Stanton had calculated that, alone, 
 he might tarry in the city, in the event he was un- 
 able to leave, without too great danger, relying 
 upon the garments of an aboo for protection. But 
 that comforting reflection had been dissipated. Sadi 
 had learned about the transaction in the graveyard, 
 and had recognized at once in the romance-reciter, 
 his former acquaintance of the march. Had he im- 
 parted his information to others? No doubt of it! 
 Stanton could hardly venture now to tell many tales 
 on the street corners, or in the cafes of Damascus. 
 Confound the strollers! They probably had been 
 but too glad to nibble at the reward the diamond 
 merchant was sure to have offered. Stanton sighed. 
 He seemed to be getting back to where he had been 
 some time ago. 
 
 He had to leave town. The conclusion was like 
 a retrogression. How long ago had he been think- 
 ing the same thing, with her at his side ? An hour, 
 two hours? It must be nearly two o'clock by this 
 time. But he must not think of that, or of her now. 
 Only it was difficult to avoid doing so. He had not 
 realized how near and dear she had become. Why, 
 she was indispensable. That was the word. Indis-
 
 ONE WAY 321 
 
 pensable ! He had to have her. She was necessary 
 to his existence. Where she went, he would follow, 
 though to the ends of the world. He no longer felt 
 physical weakness, or told himself he didn't. The 
 cut on his shoulder was nothing; he was slightly 
 unsteady, that was all, but strong strong enough 
 to get out of the intolerant city. He experienced 
 only savage anger now against those who would 
 keep him here; they had no right to attempt to do 
 so ; he would break the bars of this Moslem prison, 
 he did not much care how, nor at what risk to him- 
 self. To-night it must be to-night he would go. 
 Reiteration! Helpless, hopeless, almost childish re- 
 iteration! But, at least, he didn't have to think of 
 her now in any plans he might make. He did not 
 have to ask her to share any risks, the way he had 
 when he had left her in the market place. 
 
 The market place? Suddenly he started. The 
 stall? The Star of the Desert? Was the great- 
 est stallion still there, where he had left him? 
 It was possible. It was even most likely. Amad 
 was probably devoting his efforts principally to 
 guarding the exits at present. He would play "safe." 
 He couldn't very well raEe that city of mystery
 
 322 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 and a myriad hiding-places while it was dark. He 
 would wait for the morn to do that. Then perhaps 
 the fanatics would have wearied of burning and 
 looting in the native Christian quarter and be more 
 ready to devote themselves to the diamond mer- 
 chant's personal concerns. There was too much 
 confusion in the city to have conducted a very sys- 
 tematic search as yet. 
 
 The young man started toward the market place. 
 If only he could reach there, mount the Star, and 
 "rush" one of the exits, or attempt to do so! It 
 seemed rather a mad expedient, but it might not be 
 impossible. Indeed, the things that look hardest, are 
 sometimes the least difficult. Had he not seen that 
 demonstrated in the great college game? The un- 
 expected succeeded. He himself had once been se- 
 lected by his team to pull off a stunt, seemingly about 
 as unachievable as this one. But it had been at a 
 crisis ; all was lost unless something of the kind could 
 be accomplished. And he, the lucky half-back, had 
 turned the trick. That goal had been for glory; 
 this was for paradise. It was guarded by soldiers 
 who should be sleepy by this time. And if not 
 sleepy, fairly inebriated! They had had an early
 
 ONE WAY 323 
 
 start. Besides, they probably couldn't shoot straight 
 anyhow. The thoroughfare was dark; he could 
 manage to get fairly close, before 
 
 Yes ; he would do it. Nerve would carry a man 
 far. Even as he told himself this, he stumbled, but 
 recovered with a feeling of surprised impatience and 
 continued. He saw at length the open space of 
 the market before him and paused to rest. Not long ! 
 consciousness might leave him, he had certainly 
 lost a bit of blood, and the day would come and find 
 him there. It would not be dark much longer. Soon 
 would be heard the call to morning prayer. He 
 must hasten hasten And with an effort he did. 
 
 Now he was at the entrance of the square. His 
 hand brushed against the wall and he groped his way 
 along. At last he stood before the stall. A low 
 whinny greeted him. Pegasus! Garden of Eden! 
 cedars of Solomon "song of songs" his 
 thoughts were chaotic. He hardly Knew what he 
 did. But he managed to unfasten Pegasus. It took 
 him some time to mount. Good old Pegasus ! how 
 still he stood ! seemed to know. Goal ! garden ! 
 song! clinging with one hand to the pommel of the 
 saddle, swaying like a drunkard, he rode forth.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A SURPRISE 
 
 IN the street of the bazaars the story-tellers told, 
 the next day, how he got out. It had not been 
 such a difficult matter. Surprised, some of the 
 guard had swallowed the aromatic hempen cuds 
 they had been chewing. Others had barely evaded 
 the violent rush of the great stallion, maddened when 
 his rider had unexpectedly lashed him. A few 
 desultory detonations had enlivened the situation, 
 without, apparently, affecting the result. "The Van- 
 ishing Bridegroom," the story-tellers called him. 
 The bride had vanished yet more mysteriously. She 
 had simply become as not and no one knew why. The 
 narrative made an excellent one for the listeners in 
 the narrow Damascan streets, the fiction-makers in- 
 fusing into it a spice of the supernatural. Else how 
 could they explain the climax ? 
 
 324
 
 A SURPRISE 325 
 
 How could the lady have been whisked away, un- 
 less the substitute bridegroom was in reality a genie 
 or an afrit? These mischievous and uncanny ones 
 like to assume human shape, to fool people, or work 
 havoc in the homes of husbands, notably old gentle- 
 men married to young brides. This genie had the 
 gift of appearing anyhow, anywhere. First, he was 
 a ragged dervish, then a wonderfully handsome 
 young man. He had made love to the fair young 
 bride right under the former husband's nose. He 
 had set them all at cross-purposes. He had played 
 a merry mad game of hide-and-seek. 
 
 Amad heard this* version of the tale and his rage 
 was frightful to behold. His domestic affairs made 
 a theme for street-corner entertainment, to the ac- 
 companiment of a kanoon! The story of his in- 
 felicities listened to by the gaping multitude! In- 
 tolerable! He told Light of Life what he thought 
 of her, what a fine guardian she had been. And 
 Light of Life told him what she thought of him. 
 Fool ! ever to have divorced the young minx. And 
 then ever to have allowed himself to be tied and 
 gagged by the fellow. She had the better of the 
 argument. She always did have. Amad was fool-
 
 326 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 ish to indulge in recriminations. He retired from 
 the field of battle with strange rumblings in his 
 chest. 
 
 When he had recovered a little he tried to induce 
 authority to step in and stop the story-teller on the 
 street corner, but the zdbit of police shrugged in 
 a lukewarm manner at his request. Story-tellers had 
 inalienable rights. For six hundred years they had 
 been accorded privileges. Besides, the hero of this 
 tale was supposed to be a genie, one of those evil 
 spirits of the air and it is not wise to interfere in 
 such cases. It might be displeasing to the genie. 
 He might, in revenge, haunt the zabit's home. One 
 has to be very polite to these supernatural beings. 
 
 Amad scoffed at the official and explained when 
 a genie was not a genie, and why, but the head of 
 police only listened incredulously. The rich dia- 
 mond merchant could not explain the lady's disap- 
 pearance. If that wasn't magic, the zdbit was no 
 judge of magic, and there was no such thing as 
 magic. And every true follower of the faith knew 
 magic did exist, and, like lightning, was apt to strike 
 anywhere. The visitor had better go home and make 
 the best of it. Nothing would be gained by attempt-
 
 A SURPRISE 327 
 
 ing to cross a spirit of the air. Perhaps some day 
 the aforesaid spirit would condescend to return the 
 young lady. 
 
 Again Amad used camel language. "Return?" 
 He almost choked. The substitute husband was 
 an American, he protested, a dog of a foreigner, 
 who had been to Mecca. The zabit looked queer. 
 No doubt this caller was a little touched in the 
 head by his loss. The diamond merchant went on 
 that he would prove his assertions by Sadi, but he 
 couldn't just now. The saddler was at present in- 
 disposed, unconscious. Some one had considerably 
 damaged his head. It was a mystery how it had 
 happened. Perhaps, suggested the official, it was 
 more magic. The genie was angry. Are not the 
 tales full of instances of their wrath? And there- 
 upon the magistrate called, before him the guard at 
 the gate and questioned him. They, scenting which 
 way the wind blew, affirmed that from the horse's 
 nostrils had come flames. When he snorted, sparks 
 flew. This was the easiest way out of a predica- 
 ment for them. Perhaps, too, by this time, they had 
 almost persuaded themselves there had been fiery 
 indications. Ergo, the horse was enchanted, and,
 
 328 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 ergo again, you couldn't be expected to stop an en- 
 chanted horse. Thus they crawled out of a hole. 
 
 Amad left, but not to go home. He had already 
 sent horsemen down the way which is the shortest 
 way to the sea. He, himself, now followed these 
 horsemen and with others of his friends and satel- 
 lites. They might yet catch the fellow, or at least 
 find some trace of him. They did. Amad, after a 
 long, long ride, came up with those he had des- 
 patched earlier. They had paused at the boundary 
 line beyond which lies a non-Moslem zone. In that 
 independent liwa, over which presides a Christian 
 governor, appointed with the consent of the powers, 
 any Christian is safe. No Mohammedan may harm 
 him. Amad might have proceeded farther, but to 
 what purpose ? Just to shake his fist at his enemy ? 
 If he did more than that, the five powers, or one of 
 them, would settle with him. He could not escape ; 
 he would be sought for, wherever he was, and 
 dragged forth. He gritted his teeth. Then there 
 was a bitterer pill to swallow. 
 
 Tied to a bush at the very border of the accursed 
 zone, the diamond merchant saw the Star of the 
 Desert. The noble animal looked pretty well tuck-
 
 A SURPRISE 329 
 
 ered out, though the young man had selected an ex- 
 cellent grazing spot for his equine friend, removed 
 the saddle and made him as comfortable as possible. 
 As Amad swung on to the scene the Star was en- 
 gaged in nibbling languidly succulent blades on the 
 mountain of holy associations. A shot or two had 
 grazed him, but, no doubt, he would be right enough 
 soon. Fastened to the saddle fluttered a bit of 
 white ; it was a message hastily scrawled on a rather 
 disreputable bit of paper. The diamond merchant 
 seized and visually devoured it. 
 
 "To the illustrious, etc., etc., Amad Ahl-Masr:" 
 the fellow could be polite, exquisitely so 
 "Herewith, I am returning your property." The 
 reader groaned. The "property" continued to nib- 
 ble. "Thank you for the loan. I have rubbed him 
 down well. Farewell! We meet no more. Our 
 acquaintance, though short, has been sweet. I have 
 enjoyed my stay in your oh, so interesting city. 
 I was a stranger and you took me in. For courtesies 
 and attentions a thousand thanks. I shall never 
 forget your hospitality. Remember me to our mu- 
 tual friends, Sadi, the dyer, and " 
 
 Here he mentioned one or two others. The name, 
 "Jack Stanton," followed.
 
 330 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 Amad regarded the note and he didn't say a word. 
 There are limitations even to camel language. Be- 
 low the signature was more writing. 
 
 "My regards to dear Light of Life. What a 
 charming woman ! Cherish her. Preserve her as the 
 apple of your eye. My one regret is that I can't take 
 my dear mother-in-law with me. I pass her on to 
 you. I owe you something and thus pay my debt. 
 Pardon bad writing. I have a little cut. Don't 
 worry. It doesn't amount to anything. I am feeling 
 much better. You will be so pleased to learn this. 
 The mountain air has such tonic properties. Once 
 more affectionate salutations, etc. 
 
 "Postscript No. 2 : Note the marks on the road. 
 What do they spell for you? Rubber? Ever hear 
 of tires? Automobiles?" 
 
 A flood of knowledge suddenly illumined the 
 reader's brain. The mystery of the vanishing lady 
 was no longer a mystery. Afar up the mountain 
 now he thought he saw something flutter a 
 ragged cloak of a distant wayfarer on the road. 
 But he saw, also, houses; the fellow was leaving 
 desolation behind him. Amad suppressed the temp- 
 tation to follow. Among these non-Moslem peo- 
 ple it would be hazardous to attempt to molest 
 the fellow. Revenge would be sweet but he was
 
 A SURPRISE 331 
 
 old and cautious. The evil one take that zone 
 of safety for dogs of Christians! And Amad 
 prayed inwardly that in that old, old town of his, 
 there might be a general massacre of all foul un- 
 believers. Unfortunately, it did not seem as if 
 his wish would come to pass. The rioting and loot- 
 ing of the night before had, after all, been of a 
 desultory and non-sanguinary character. No true 
 prophet of blood had arisen at the opportune mo- 
 ment, as had been the case on other occasions. The 
 diamond merchant, however, yet savagely hoped for 
 the best or the worst and tearing the message 
 into a hundred bits, he turned back. 
 
 Several days later, he whom Amad had discerned 
 afar, stood on a hill, some distance to the west, 
 and gazed down upon a little seaport town. His 
 look was eager, expectant. His quest was done, or 
 practically had come to an end. From this port he 
 could take a ship for anywhere. He had won his 
 wager, but he was not thinking of that. His quick- 
 ening gaze rested on the walls of the solid old mis- 
 sion buildings, not so far away. Bright spots 
 oranges in groves danced around them. Stan-
 
 332 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 ton hastened downward and his stride was once 
 more vigorous. The patriarchal beard of the ro- 
 mance-reciter had been discarded. He didn't need 
 it any longer. 
 
 One of the first persons he met in the town's 
 principal winding little street was Lord Fitzgerald, 
 on foot. Stanton hailed him joyfully. 
 
 "Eh? What? Oh!" said his lordship. This 
 young American was certainly a surprise-maker. 
 
 "She is here?" were his next words. 
 
 "Yes." The Englishman nodded toward the 
 mission buildings. 
 
 "And well?" Eagerly. 
 
 Again an affirmative. Stanton laughed. He ex- 
 perienced a kind of somnambulistic feeling. What a 
 wonderful haven the town seemed after all the little 
 vicissitudes of the past He walked on hardly not- 
 ing where he was going. 
 
 "Have any difficulty getting here?" he asked, after 
 a few moments. 
 
 "No. Only once or twice your the lady wanted 
 to jump out." 
 
 "You did not let her, I hope ?" In quick alarm. 
 
 "Naturally not." Dryly.
 
 A SURPRISE 333 
 
 "But why should she have ?" The young man 
 began, then stopped. "Unaccustomed to cars, I sup- 
 pose. Don't believe she ever saw one before." 
 
 "No doubt that was it," observed Fitzgerald, 
 studying the eager intent face of his companion. 
 "The case has quite puzzled the missionaries," he 
 added. 
 
 "What case?" 
 
 "Hers." 
 
 "My wife's?" 
 
 "Hum !" said the Englishman. 
 
 Stanton turned on him. "Why do you say that ?" 
 
 "Are you sure the lady is your wife?" 
 
 "The Mohammedan ceremony is as binding as 
 any other." There was a truculent accent in the 
 young man's tone. 
 
 "Yes, but you are a Christian," said Fitzgerald 
 with a smile. 
 
 "But the lady isn't" 
 
 "Is, too." 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 "Is, too/' repeated Fitzgerald. 
 
 "She has been converted ?" 
 
 "She never has been a Mohammedan, at all."
 
 334 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 The young man stared at him. 
 
 "When one of the contracting parties is a Chris- 
 tian, a Mohammedan marriage may still be consid- 
 ered binding," observed the nobleman. "When both 
 are, it is not binding. Therefore, you never were a 
 real substitute husband. You were only an imita- 
 tion imitation-husband. Your bride was only an 
 imitation imitation-bride. A mustahall is only a 
 shadow of a husband. You" Fitzgerald seemed 
 to enjoy his own wit "were but a shadow of a 
 shadow." 
 
 The young man stopped. He eyed the other sav- 
 agely. "Why don't you say something?" he growled. 
 "I don't like a lot of words." 
 
 "Has it never occurred to you, yourself, that the 
 young lady might not be a Mohammedan?" asked 
 the other. 
 
 "What do you know? You have heard some- 
 thing? What is it?" 
 
 "The girl's mother was Greek." 
 
 "Greek? You are sure?" Bewildered. 
 
 "Positive. Her father was English." 
 
 "I I don't understand." Here was the opening 
 of a new chamber of mysteries. He strove to re-
 
 A SURPRISE 335 
 
 adjust his ideas to new conditions. Was he pleased, 
 glad, his wife was not a Mohammedan? He hardly 
 knew at the moment. It was the girl he wanted. 
 He had given the subject of her nationality no 
 thought. She she was all in all everything 
 
 "But how?" he began. 
 
 "Sshh!"said Fitzgerald. 
 
 They had reached a gate and paused before it. 
 Around them were orange trees. Afar they saw a 
 figure passing in the garden. The young man gave 
 a slight exclamation. The girl was dressed in Eu- 
 ropean costume and was walking with an old man, 
 presumably the chief missionary. She did not look 
 toward them ; her head was down-bent ; the wonder- 
 ful face seemed much paler. The two men did not 
 move ; Stanton scarcely breathed. His burning gaze 
 followed her as she went by on the 1 distant winding 
 walk. Oh, the grace, the charm of her! In that 
 garb he seemed to see her anew. Forgetful of all, 
 bewildered, perhaps a little dazed, he was about to 
 spring forward, when the nobleman touched his arm. 
 
 "Ahem!" said Fitzgerald. "Those aw ! togs 
 are all right in the desert, you know, but " 
 
 Stanton paused. The other was right. His cloale
 
 336 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 was ragged and soiled; sleeping in it had not im- 
 proved it. His face was dyed. He was in a Chris- 
 tian country, or a segment of one, and he had been 
 about to rush irresistibly toward her he, a vaga- 
 bond of the desert, a scarecrow for garments; he 
 might even have been capable of clasping her in his 
 arms, willy-nilly. Had that actually been his im- 
 pulse? And with those clothes stained with blood, 
 too, as if the vagabond had been in some low tav- 
 ern brawl 
 
 No, no ; Fitzgerald was right. Trust an English- 
 man for the proprieties. Stanton laughed. A 
 "bawth" a change of attire 
 
 Mechanically he followed his lordship on, past 
 the mission garden. He turned his back on it and 
 her. As he did so, he felt a sudden chill ; the world 
 of convention once more claimed him ; he was about 
 to become a civilized being. "Not his wife" and 
 never had been! He experienced a dread premoni- 
 tion. Before, he might have claimed her; he had 
 intended to. But now ? Uneasiness seized his soul.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MARY CARRUTHERS 
 
 M A S I told you, on her father's side, she is" 
 J\ Fitzgerald paused impressively "English." 
 The two now were seated in the nobleman's room 
 in the one fairly pretentious hotel the town boasted. 
 Stanton had had his "bawth". He had shaved. 
 The first application of a mild chemical wash had 
 partly removed the dye. Another application would 
 remove it entirely. In the meantime, his tall figure 
 enveloped in a voluminous bathrobe, he listened in- 
 tently to his host. 
 
 "Her father was from Devon good family," 
 the nobleman went on. He rather emphasized the 
 latter fact "The young lady's mother, also, had ex- 
 cellent connections excellent ! Blue blood, a bit of 
 property on both sides, I fancy." Fitzgerald's voice 
 trailed off. Stanton stirred uneasily. He hoped the 
 blood wouldn't be too blue; that they wouldn't re- 
 move her altogether from the sphere of his hopes. 
 
 337
 
 338 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 They couldn't very well make a princess out of his 
 "wife", the way they do in the story books, unless 
 through her mother she might inherit maybe, she 
 would prove to be a Lady Somebody, or an Honor- 
 able Miss Awful thought! She, a daughter of 
 romance! Those wonderful deep dark poetic eyes 
 belonging to an "Honorable Miss" Perish the pos- 
 sibility ! He drew up his legs ; he hugged them with 
 strong sinewy arms. Were the icy fingers of an ar- 
 tificial civilization reaching out to grab her from 
 him, to whisk her away from him even as he had 
 whisked her away from them? Irony of fortune! 
 Perhaps he was too anxious, but something seemed 
 to point to trouble. Anyway, he would fight the 
 specter 
 
 "The father, like Byron, took a good deal of in- 
 terest in the sanguinary struggles of Greece," con- 
 tinued the nobleman. "He was a man of rather soli- 
 tary habits and a good deal of a traveler. The 
 mother lived in a small principality bordering on the 
 domains of the 'sick man of Europe'. My country- 
 man saw her, fell in love with her she must have 
 been a very beautiful woman and married her. 
 For a while they were happy. Then business called
 
 MARY CARRUTHERS 339 
 
 the husband home. During his absence, a tragedy 
 befell. The little principality had long been a seat 
 of intermittent strife and turmoil. It still is, and 
 will be, until the followers of the prophet are driven 
 out of Europe. Even then " Fitzgerald made a 
 cynical gesture. "In some localities war becomes a 
 habit. But to return: 
 
 "During the husband's absence, the Turks, half 
 brigands, half soldiers, made one of their periodical 
 descents. They looted, pillaged and killed in the 
 usual manner. The girl's mother, among those 
 spared, on account of her beauty, was carried off. 
 
 "But the husband?" Stanton's eyes sparkled. 
 "Did he make no move? Did he not move heaven 
 and earth to " 
 
 "He would, no doubt, have done so, but, unfor- 
 tunately, just at this time, he was himself stricken 
 down in London. An old trouble, I understand. 
 Was taken to a hospital and died there. Exact de- 
 tails are hard to get at. Remember this happened 
 long ago. He may never have learned what befell 
 his wife. Home office, too, may never have known. 
 Outrages of this kind were frequent. The mother 
 may have been reported dead.
 
 340 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "As a matter of fact, she was not slain, but car- 
 ried to a fanatical Moslem center and thereafter was 
 lost to the world. Nothing so uncommon in that." 
 Stanton nodded. He was intensely interested. 
 "Shortly after her captivity, the mother gave birth 
 to a child. Later, to avoid being sold into the posi- 
 tive slavery which, as you and I know, existed 
 then, the mother became the wife of a Mussulman. 
 Apparently he was not a bad sort of chap for his 
 kind. Anyhow he seems to have been generous 
 enough to his Christian wife. Presented her with a 
 fine house in Damascus, don't you know." 
 
 Stanton did know. "Yes; I've been there." He 
 spoke absently. 
 
 "Have, eh ?" His lordship eyed him sharply. The 
 young man's attention, for an instant, was out of the 
 window. It was immediately recalled. "Odd how 
 some of those Moslem fellows do take to their Chris- 
 tian wives," resumed Fitzgerald. "The big Mogul 
 of India, for example, was inordinately fond of his. 
 About the time of the marriage, or shortly after, the 
 child, by the English father, was placed in a mission. 
 Just how this came about is somewhat a matter of 
 conjecture. Perhaps the mother stipulated it as a
 
 MARY CARRUTHERS 341 
 
 condition and he agreed. Possibly it secretly pleased 
 him to dispense with this reminder of the past. The 
 mother, though yielding to the inevitable, herself, 
 may have welcomed the chance to restore the child 
 to a civilization where she belonged. At any rate, a 
 member of a caravan brought her here. An old 
 preacher you saw him to-day then connected 
 with the mission, thinks he remembers an old camel 
 man, white-bearded, venerable, asking for some pa- 
 per that vouched for the child's safe delivery. One 
 can fancy the mother, far, far away, a prisoner, if 
 you will, though a wife, waiting for that paper 
 her heart torn, yet thankful, wafting prayers across 
 distance. There's a situation for you." 
 
 Fitzgerald paused. Stanton's mind was making 
 pictures. The white-bearded camel man, the child, 
 the camels he could see them winding over sandy 
 places, the long shadows of the great ungainly 
 beasts, the little one nestling, perhaps, as a snow- 
 flake on a broad breast, beneath a venerable beard 
 on on rhythmically on the child, wonderful, 
 beautiful now lisping beneath the somber shadow 
 of those great trees whereof the temple of Solomon 
 was builded, heedless of destination minding not
 
 342 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 the whither, the how, the where ? a mite in a great 
 caravan big-eyed, smiling confidently into swarthy 
 faces 
 
 "After the mother died" Fitzgerald had plunged 
 again into the narrative "the Mohammedan hus- 
 band took unto himself a second favorite, or princi- 
 pal wife, Light of Life. Now comes another epoch 
 in the child's life. The old preacher remembers some 
 one presenting a paper for the child. He doesn't re- 
 member very vividly, for he is getting old and ab- 
 sent-minded. Has worked in many missions so very, 
 very long! The old missionary was not satisfied to 
 give her up, however, and later she was removed 
 surreptitiously smuggled away " 
 
 "But why should they Light of Life have 
 wanted " began Stanton. 
 
 "Her back? There are several reasons. More 
 conjecture! The girl was beautiful. The step- 
 mother may have been avaricious " 
 
 "May have been!" From the young man, sotto 
 voce. 
 
 "She may have planned to sell her in marriage to 
 some benign old Mussulman of means." 
 
 "No doubt that was it !"
 
 MARY CARRUTHERS 343 
 
 "Also, Light of Life may have been most devout, 
 a fanatic. In rescuing the child from the dogs of 
 Christians and their pernicious influence, she was 
 performing a service to Allah. The missions did 
 what they could to find some trace of her but without 
 success. Light of Life saw to that." 
 
 "Light of Life!" Stanton murmured something 
 softly in Arabic. It was not a blessing on the head 
 of his ex-stepmother-in-law. 
 
 "And the English father how did you find out 
 about?" 
 
 "From a few old pieces of jewelry. The young 
 lady brought them away with her. Perhaps you did 
 not know she was the possessor of several fine ex- 
 amples of the goldsmith's art?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I did." Dryly. "Didn't she try to bribe 
 me with them once?" Stanton's eyes became half 
 whimsical, half tender. 
 
 "Bribe? For what?" 
 
 "Never mind." 
 
 "Man of mystery!" laughed the nobleman. "Evi- 
 dently you did not examine the pieces very closely." 
 
 "I did not." 
 
 "That you should have done, my good and incor-
 
 344 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 ruptible friend. Had you done so, you would have 
 discovered on one or two of them certain marks 
 old tracings of a coat of arms English. Knew it 
 very well. Questioned the young lady. Seems there 
 is a caretaker and his wife, Christians themselves, 
 who were devoted to her mother. The latter, just 
 before she died, gave these old trinkets to them, to 
 keep for the child. This service they faithfully per- 
 formed. When she showed them to me I began to 
 wonder. Happened to know something of the 
 father's family. Used cable. Kept the wires siz- 
 zling as you Americans say. You know the result. 
 Verified all the facts. Traced record of marriage, 
 too. How'd she happen to show me the jewelry? 
 Oh, she didn't try to bribe me. No such luck ! Not 
 so sure I'd be so incorruptible. Truth is, well, you 
 know, the lady had some vague ideas about the wolf 
 at the door, between ideas about something else that 
 might, or might not have happened at Damascus, 
 and, charing aside, she felt impelled to you un- 
 derstand ? Didn't want to be a burden on the mis- 
 sion folks. No danger of that now," the nobleman 
 added. "She can get along nicely very nicely, in- 
 deed!"
 
 MARY CARRUTHERS 345 
 
 The other did not pursue the subject. "She knows 
 all this ?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "She does." 
 
 "What's" Stanton swallowed "What's her 
 name?" Fancy having to ask the name of one 
 whom once you fondly imagined was your wife! 
 
 "Mary Carruthers." 
 
 "Carruthers? Miss Carruthers." Stanton re- 
 peated the name like a child in the first grade say- 
 ing his letters. "Mary Carruthers " It wasn't a 
 bad name. In fact it was a very nice name. But it 
 was like getting acquainted with her all over again. 
 He sighed. Then he brightened. Allah be praised 
 she was not an Honorable Miss Anybody. He had 
 been spared that. He felt confused, however. He 
 couldn't help it. He had felt that way before, only 
 this was a new variety of the mixed-up feeling. 
 Maybe, he would have to ask somebody for her 
 hand. There might appear a brand-new lot of rela- 
 tives and meddlers and people who advise. Some- 
 times these people talk of "grand matches," or de- 
 sirable matches. "Desirable?" That was the word. 
 Was he desirable? Some of that fanciful batch of 
 new relatives might have doubts. There might be
 
 346 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 an Anglo-Saxon Light of Life among them a reg- 
 ular terror. His heart sank. He could imagine as 
 many obstacles as a timorous boy sees bogy faces 
 on tree trunks in a forest at dusk time. 
 
 "Sure you aren't a romance-reciter?" he said 
 gruffly to the nobleman. 
 
 "I haven't the talent," answered that person. "I 
 leave the job to you." 
 
 "Humph!" 
 
 Fitzgerald eyed him with mild inquiry. The 
 young man did not seem so pleased as he ought to 
 be. Perhaps because he had lost that wager 
 
 "Here's the prayer-book," Stanton said bruskly, 
 at that moment. 
 
 "The little Mecca souvenir?" It was Fitzgerald's 
 turn to be surprised. 
 
 "Yes." Indifferently. 
 
 "But I thought you said you lost it." 
 
 "Did." Laconically. "But got it again." 
 
 "I congratulate you." The nobleman was gen- 
 erous. 
 
 "Thanks." With no enthusiasm. 
 
 "You win." 
 
 "Do I?" Stanton knew well enough he had won
 
 MARY CARRUTHERS 347 
 
 the wager. But he wondered if he would ever 
 win ? . 
 
 "You deserve success, old man," said Fitzgerald 
 warmly. 
 
 "Thanks !" Again. The young man was now rub- 
 bing the chemical "wash" once more on his face 
 and shoulders. "Hang this stuff! It works slowly." 
 He would be indoors a long time at this rate. He 
 would have to stay in he couldn't go out half reii- 
 ovated. He was neither one thing nor the other. 
 
 "Maybe if you put it on a little stronger?" sug- 
 gested Fitzgerald sympathetically. 
 
 "And get skinned ?" scoffed the young man. "No, 
 thank you," he grumbled. 
 
 "Patience, then," counseled the other. 
 
 Stanton's reply was inaudible.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 SOME time later, he strode forth. He wore 
 European clothes. They didn't fit very well, 
 but they were the best that could be procured. He 
 had had the hotel proprietor send out for them. 
 After the loose flowing, if sometimes disreputable, 
 garb he had been accustomed to so long, these gar- 
 ments seemed stiff and uncomfortable. But he car- 
 ried them well. "If only I could get in touch with 
 a real live American tailor!" he said to himself 
 yearningly. He longed for that subtle cut, which 
 only the "artists" of his native land can impart. 
 He felt he wasn't doing justice to himself in these 
 duds. He wasn't at all like the picturesque bride- 
 groom who had invaded her courtyard. He was 
 different and she was different Would everything 
 else be different ? 
 
 He again reached the mission gardens and walked 
 through the gate. But he walked slower now. 
 
 348
 
 THE MISSION GARDENS 349 
 
 What ? Timid ? Like a young man who has to force 
 himself to call upon the adored object of his bashful 
 fancy. Stanton frowned. Of course he felt as bold 
 as a lion. It was only these clothes that bothered 
 him that made him feel strange. They must have 
 been cut by a sheep-shearer, he grumbled to himself. 
 And that hat? He took it off and surveyed it scorn- 
 fully. One of those English lids that are im- 
 ported by the hundreds to the seaport towns of 
 the world, for natives and poor exiles! All this 
 time, he hadn't progressed very far in the gar- 
 den. His heart was pounding furiously. He had 
 never known it to cut up so before. His stiff shirt 
 hadn't worn one for months! creaked and he 
 didn't seem to have room enough for deep breathing. 
 He paused to readjust himself. 
 
 He? unsophisticated? hesitating? Why, hadn't 
 he taken her in his arms yes, in his arms that 
 evening at the casement, and hadn't he? yes, he 
 had. Stanton flushed slightly. He hadn't hesitated 
 then. No one could have been bolder. But this 
 wasn't quite like Those confounded mission walls 
 were so solid-looking and conventional! He would 
 have to go up to them and knock on the door. He
 
 350 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 would say: "Is Miss Carruthers in?" It would 
 seem almost like asking for a stranger. And then 
 once inside with his very soul pinched by four 
 eminently conventional walls, he or she would say : 
 "So glad to see you! You are well, I trust?" Fol- 
 lowing which would come introductions to the very 
 worthy people, her friends, and a nice conventional 
 conversation platitudinous, more or less sprightly, 
 maybe instructive, perhaps 
 
 But the situation had to be met. He went on. 
 Creak! creak! That shirt was certainly starched 
 hard as a board all over. Hang native laundries! 
 And the hat pinched his head. He missed the soft 
 caressing folds of the head-covering of the wild 
 people of the desert. His head felt light without 
 the turban. Perhaps he was a bit light-headed. He 
 was going to see her. He reiterated it. He began 
 now to forget everything else. Doubts and mis- 
 givings suddenly evaporated. The single, bald, im- 
 portant fact expanded and filled his being. He was 
 going to see her soon now 
 
 Yes; now! For she had come out Allah be 
 praised, she was alone. She came toward him ; she 
 saw him. The dimming day softened any differences
 
 THE MISSION GARDENS 351 
 
 in him. His eyes, his expression though that last 
 was not different; she must remember that look. 
 Burning, admiring! He stood as first he had be- 
 fore her, when the sight of her face, in front of the 
 pastry-shop, had awakened the fiery poet in him. 
 Something in him had called out to her then, as 
 voices call from a tower at prayer time. Then and 
 now that past and this present seemed one they 
 were one. He started toward her impetuously, but 
 stopped. None of that now that old manner! 
 He mustn't forget. 
 
 "Miss Carruthers " he began. It seemed rather 
 absurd, but how else could he address her? His 
 voice had a lugubriously formal sound. The girl 
 gave him her hand quickly, and he clasped it eagerly. 
 Nothing formal about that clasp of his! Her hand 
 was delightfully soft and warm. It imparted a glow 
 all over him. Then somehow he managed to release 
 the hand, though it required a heroic effort. He 
 felt he was practising enormous self-denial. He 
 looked at her, maybe not so conventionally as he 
 imagined. 
 
 "I we are so glad. Lord Fitzgerald sent me 
 word you were here."
 
 352 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Yes, got in to-day." He spoke as if he had ar- 
 rived in the most conventional manner. In a Pull- 
 man, perhaps. 
 
 "He told me, too, how you managed to get out 
 of Damascus." 
 
 "No trick at all," he answered. 
 
 She looked at him. "Won't won't you sit 
 down ?" A constraint seemed abruptly to have de- 
 scended between them. "Or, would you rather go 
 into the house ?" 
 
 "I would not rather go into the house," he re- 
 turned emphatically. "I mean" in answer to a 
 somewhat surprised glance "it is very pleasant out 
 here, isn't it ? And we have so much to say !" He 
 hadn't quite meant that last, or, at least, to put it 
 just that way. 
 
 They found themselves on the bench, but for one 
 who had so much to say, he was strangely quiet. It 
 was not easy to adjust himself to the new conditions. 
 He looked at the European dress. She certainly 
 looked well in it, though. So graceful! so slender! 
 with those sweetly delicate curves 
 
 "Yes, no trick at all !" he said, for want of some- 
 thing better to say. "You you are comfortable 
 here?"
 
 THE MISSION GARDENS 353 
 
 "Most." 
 
 "Looks like a nice place." 
 
 "It is." 
 
 They had lapsed into the conventional. It seemed 
 inevitable a part of that process of readjust- 
 ing, or finding themselves anew. He was just like 
 any other young man who might call upon her. 
 He didn't like it. He frowned. Then he half 
 sighed. Was this the end -the very end? Had he 
 only been nourishing a mirage in his breast? Of 
 course, she was friendly very. No denying that. 
 He regarded her furtively, while a period of silence 
 ensued. "Much to say!" What a joke! Doubts 
 began to pop into his mind, numerically as many as 
 the stars in the heavens. How self-possessed she 
 was and tranquil. Ominously sol He couldn't 
 even think of platitudes now. He had asked if she 
 liked it here, if she was comfortable. What else 
 remained to be said? He looked around. 
 
 "I suppose you will be going to England soon?" 
 
 "I suppose so. We I have hardly made any plans 
 yet." 
 
 "Permit me to congratulate you on the felicitous 
 turn of your fortunes," he observed. "I am glad 
 very glad."
 
 354 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 "Thank you." Simply. And then "I I do 
 thank you so much for all " 
 
 "Don't !" He waved his hand. She was going to 
 profess gratitude for the little bit the very little he 
 had done for her. He had a very hungy feeling. It 
 was not her gratitude he wanted, -but more more 
 He clasped and unclasped his strong fingers, looking 
 straight before him. Their conversation seemed 
 doomed to be punctuated with long silences. 
 
 "We I went every day to the caravansaries to 
 inquire about you," the girl said after an interval. 
 
 "That was very kind of you." 
 
 "We hoped to hear from some of the camel men 
 that you were safe." 
 
 Another perfunctory acknowledgment ! 
 
 "And then we heard nothing nothing " 
 
 Was there a slight catch in Mary Carruthers' 
 voice? He must be mistaken. The wish was father 
 to the thought. 
 
 "Yes; news doesn't travel very fast over here," 
 observed the young man. Then he crossed the other 
 leg. 
 
 She looked at him. His face was handsome, but 
 somber. He was reflecting. That lion-like boldness
 
 THE MISSION GARDENS 355 
 
 he had attempted to assume had once more deserted 
 him. In her actual presence modesty seemed some- 
 how the more fitting garment. What an irony of 
 fate that he should be made to feel thus, now when 
 he had her all to himself. No menacing hands 
 reached out toward him. No daggers flashed in the 
 air. He didn't have to say something and then 
 jump and run. The conditions ought to be propitious, 
 as the astrologers say only they weren't. He 
 crossed the other leg. The world was awry. He 
 might be sitting in Central Park with an almost 
 strange young lady. Or in Regents' Park. This 
 last as a concession to her ancestry on her father's 
 side! They seemed drifting farther and farther 
 away. 
 
 It was the silence now that was punctuated with 
 talk brief remarks. He became moody, but what 
 tranquillity now was Mary Carruthers'! He won- 
 dered if she didn't feel anything. Yet she looked 
 as if she could feel. What were those wonder- 
 ful deep, dark eyes given to her for? Perhaps 
 those eyes would shine on some other fellow some- 
 where when she had taken her place in the world 
 to which she belonged. He would be but an incident
 
 356 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 in that other life of hers that more disagreeable 
 one which she would like to forget. Perhaps she 
 zvould be able to forget it, and him. And he would 
 gradually and gradually fade away like dissolving 
 mist, until 
 
 "Know my name?" he asked suddenly. He ex- 
 perienced a weird sensation of jocularity as he spoke. 
 
 "Of course!" Again with slight surprise. No 
 doubt, she thought his manner rather strange. She 
 couldn't see down into the depths that gloomy, 
 dark, black de profundis of a lover's soul. 
 
 Of course ! His question had been rather foolish. 
 She had heard his name at Damascus when they had 
 met Fitzgerald. And she probably had heard it once 
 or twice since 
 
 "Prove it!" He experienced anew that abrupt 
 sensation of unreasonable frivolity. Maybe, he just 
 wanted to hear her say it. "Prove it!" he chal- 
 lenged her. 
 
 "Mr. Jack Stanton," said the girl readily. 
 
 "Mister?" he scoffed recklessly. "Among old 
 friends ? In my country, old friends call each other 
 by first names. It's Tom, Dick, Harry, or Say 
 'Jack'."
 
 THE MISSION GARDENS 357 
 
 She did so at once, willingly. "Jack." 
 
 He let the word sink in. He seemed to like to 
 hear the sound of his own name immensely on her 
 lips. He gazed at her rapturously. Then he re- 
 membered and gazed away. Then he looked at her 
 once more. Then he said quite abruptly and unex- 
 pectedly: "Mary, I love you." 
 
 He was quite surprised at himself. He hadn't 
 expected to say it just then, or like that Why, his 
 tone was hardly tender. 
 
 A longer silence than ever a most portentous 
 one brimming with catastrophes ! Miss Carruthers 
 did not look at him now. He saw only part of that 
 lovely profile. Now when a woman or girl turns 
 away? The very poise of her head seemed to spell 
 tragedy for him. The impression grew and grew. 
 He arose. 
 
 "You you are going?" said the girl quickly. 
 There was a catch in her voice, by Allah-! 
 
 "No," he said suddenly. For the fraction of a 
 second he had caught the look in her eyes. He 
 would never leave her now. Of that, he was sure. 
 
 "Mary!" 
 
 She, too, had arisen, and he caught her to him. 
 
 "Mary!"
 
 358 ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY 
 
 The breeze, in the orange trees, sang of orange- 
 flowers. 
 
 "We'll have a Christian wedding, this time." 
 
 "And a wedding ring!" laughed the pale dark 
 princess of his dreams. "That is, if a beggar can 
 afford a?" 
 
 "Rather. And the bride'll be there. Fancy that!" 
 Ecstatically. "A wedding with the bride present! 
 And a real honeymoon afterward. A real one!" 
 The thought was almost too exhilarating. He turned 
 to her. 
 
 And what followed was just like any other love 
 scene. 
 
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