z fallen over his
lemon-coloured face, presented such a pathetic object
that I could not find the heart to be stern with him.

"Come, now, Abdul," I said, "be good!"

He paused a moment in his crying--

"Why do you call me Abdul?" he asked. "That isn't my
name."

"Isn't it?" I said. "I thought all you Sultans were called
Abdul. Isn't the Sultan's name always Abdul?"

"Mine isn't," he whimpered, "but it doesn't matter," and
his face began to crinkle up with renewed weeping. "Call
me anything you like. It doesn't matter. Anyway I'd rather
be called Abdul than be called a W-W-War Lord and a
G-G-General when they won't let me have any say at all--"

And with that the little Sultan burst into unrestrained
crying.

"Abdul," I said firmly, "if you don't stop crying, I'll
go and fetch one of the Bashi-Bazouks to take you away."

The little Sultan found his voice again.

"There aren't any Bub-Bub-Bashi-Bazouks left," he sobbed.

"None left?" I exclaimed. "Where are they gone?"

"They've t-t-taken them all aw-w-way--"

"Who have?"

"The G-G-G-Germans," sobbed Abdul. "And they've sent them
all to P-P-P-Poland."

"Come, come, Abdul," I said, straightening him up a little
as he sat. "Brace up! Be a Turk! Be a Mohammedan! Don't
act like a Christian."

This seemed to touch his pride. He made a great effort
to be calm. I could hear him muttering to himself, "Allah,
Illallah, Mohammed rasoul Allah!" He said this over a
good many times, while I took advantage of the pause to
get his fez a little straighter and wipe his face.

"How many times have I said it?" he asked presently.

"Twenty."

"Twenty? That ought to be enough, shouldn't it?" said
the Sultan, regaining himself a little. "Isn't prayer
helpful, eh? Give me a smoke?"

I filled his narghileh for him, and he began to suck blue
smoke out of it with a certain contentment, while the
rose water bubbled in the bowl below.

"Now, Abdul," I said, as I straightened up his cushions
and made him a little more comfortable, "what is it? What
is the matter?"

"Why," he answered, "they've all g-g-gone--"

"Now, don't cry! Tell me properly."

"They've all gone b-b-back on me! Boo-hoo!"

"Who have? Who've gone back on you?"

"Why, everybody. The English and the French and everybody--"

"What _do_ you mean?" I asked with increasing interest.
"Tell me exactly what you mean. Whatever you say I will
hold sacred, of course."

I saw my part already to a volume