Once, while walking around the market place with Colonel Mathews, Paul
saw a man seated cross-legged on the ground in the midst of a
circle of merchants, who were deeply interested in the discourse and
gestures of the central figure.
"I'll wager something that I can guess what that fellow is, though I do
not understand Arabic," remarked Paul to the Colonel.
"Well, what is he?" asked the Colonel.
"An auctioneer," triumphantly asserted Boyton.
"Wrong. He is a professional story-teller. He is as imaginative as
Scheherazade and the merchants here are so busy that they always have
time and inclination to listen to his long fairy tales."
After each story the listeners dropped a small coin, valued at one-
twentieth of a cent, into the story-teller's hat.
Another thing that amused Paul was the indiscriminate use the guides
made of the stout sticks they carried, whacking the natives who got
in their way in the narrow streets as mercilessly as they did the asses
they drove.
The women were all heavily veiled, their faces jealously hidden from the
eyes of men, except when some giddy girl with a taste for flirtation
allowed her veil to slip down as if by accident, and one then, as a
general thing, beheld a very pretty countenance.
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