elp the sale of the book.

Today we went to call on the Khedive. It was very informal and too
democratic to suit my tastes. We went through a line of his bodyguard
in the hall, and the master of ceremonies took us up several low but
wide stairways to a hall. In the hall was a little fat young man in a
frock coat and a fez, and he shook hands with us, and walked into
another room and we all sat down on chairs covered with white muslin.
I talked and Little talked about me and the Khedive pretended to be
very much honored, and said the American who had come over after our
rebellion had done more for the officers in his army than had anyone
else, meaning the English. He did not say that because we were
Americans, but because he hates the English. He struck me as being
stubborn, which is one side of stupidness and yet not stupid, and I
occasionally woke him to bursts of enthusiasm over the Soudanese. His
bursts were chiefly "Ali." Little seemed to amuse him very much, and
Little treated him exactly like a little boy who needed to be cheered
up. I think in one way it was the most curious contrast I ever saw.
"Ed" Little of Abilene, Kansas, telling the ruler of Egypt not to
worry, that he had plenty of years in which to live and that he would
get ahead of them all yet. Those were not his words, but that was the
tone, he was perfectly friendly and sincere about it.

This place appeals to me as about the best place with which to get
mixed up with that I know, and I've gone over a great many maps since I
left home and know just how small the world is. So, I sent the Khedive
my books after having asked his permission, and received the most
abject thanks. And as Cromer called on me, I am going to drop around
on him with a few of them. Some day there will be fine things going on
here, and there is only one God, and Lord Cromer is his Prophet in this
country. They think that Mohammed is but they are wrong. He is a very
big man. The day he sent his ultimatum to the Khedive telling him to
dismiss Facta Pasha and put back Riaz Pasha, he went out in full view
of the Gezerik drive and played lawn tennis. Any man who can cable for
three thousand more troops to Malta and stop a transport full of two
thousand more at Aden with one hand, and bang tennis balls about with
the other, is going in the long run to get ahead of a stout little boy
in a red fez. It is getting awfully hot here, almost hot enough for
me, and I can lay