s
the simplest means of controlling any crowd of men anywhere. The
demagog who can find a million men all responsive to the same
emotion can swing them as easily as a hundred if he knows his
business. Loot was the tune he harped, with the old Ishmael
blood-lust by way of obbligato.

He had them by the heart-strings, and there were long-necked
bottles of liquor that smelt of aniseed being passed from hand to
hand. We returned to our places almost unnoticed, and within the
minute some one handed a full bottle to Anazeh; the accompanying
cup was big enough to hold any ordinary drunkard's breakfast, and
the old sheikh's eyes admired the size of it.

I laid my hand on the wrist that held the bottle. He shook it
off angrily, and began to pour. Grim, over the way, looked
anxious. It was up to me to play this hand, so I led my ace
of trumps.

Suddenly, and very clumsily, I rocked sideways to reach my hip-
pocket, contriving to jog his elbow and spill what was already in
the cup. He turned his head to curse savagely, and I showed him
the folded sheet from my notebook. His name was on it in Arabic:

"Sheikh Anazeh ben Mahmoud, from Jimgrim."

He seized it, setting the bottle down between his feet, where it
was instantly reached for by some one else and handed down the
line. Reading was evidently not Anazeh's favorite amusement, but
he knitted his brows over the letter and wrestled with it word by
word, while Abdul Ali's fiery declamation made the vaulted roof
resound. I could only make out snatches of the appeal to
savagery--a word and a sentence here and there.

"Who are you, princes? Men with swords, or slaves who must
obey?--Raid over the Jordan twenty thousand strong!--What are
Jews? Shall Jews take the home of your ancestors? Who says so?
--Let the Jews be buried in the land they come to steal!--You say
the Jews are cleverer than you. Cut their heads off, then they
cannot think!"

"When did Jimgrim give you this?" Anazeh demanded, folding the
letter and stowing it in his bosom.

"That is the message that I told you would come later if
you waited."

"Do you know what is in the message?"

"No." That was perfectly true. I had talked with Grim, but had
not read what he had written.

"He wishes me to go and wait for him in a certain place"

"Why not do it?"

"Rubbama." (Perhaps.)

"True-believers! Followers of the Prophet! Sons of warrior
kings!" thundered Abdul Ali. "Will you do nothing