le when
dead man go by. No stop paint."

The protests of the priests, followed by their consultation and quiet
withdrawal, packed the crowd the closer. One young man in citizen's
dress and fez stood on the edge of the throng trying to understand the
cause of the excitement.

Joe, who was sitting by me assisting with the water-cup, gazed into the
intruder's face a moment, then closed upon my arm with a grip as if
he'd break it.

"Allah! Mahmoud Bey!" he whispered. "Yuleima's prince. That's him with
the smooth face."

The next instant the young man stood by my side.

"The people are only curious, monsieur," he said in French. "If they
disturb you I will have them sent away. So few painters come--you are
the first I have seen in many years. If it will not annoy you, I'd like
to watch you a while."

"Annoy me, my dear sir!" I was on my feet now, hat in hand. (If he had
been my long-lost brother, stolen by the Indians or left on a desert
island to starve--or any or all of those picturesque and dramatic
things--I could not have been more glad to see him. I fairly hugged
myself--it seemed too good to be true.) "I will be more than delighted
if you will take my dragoman's stool. Get up, Joe, and give--"

The request had already been forestalled. Joe was not only up, but was
bowing with the regularity and precision of the arms of a windmill, his
fingers, with every rise, fluttering between his shirt-stud and his
eyebrows. On his second upsweep the young prince got a view of his
face--then his hand went out.

"Why, it is Hornstog! We know each other. We met in Damascus. You could
not, monsieur, find a better dragoman in all Constantinople."

Only three pairs of eyes now followed the movements of my brush, the
crowd having fallen back out of respect for the young man's rank, Yusuf
having communicated that fact to those who had not recognized him.

When the light changed--and it changed unusually early that morning,
about two hours ahead of time (I helped)--I said to the prince:

"It may interest you to see me finish a sketch in color. Come with me
as far as Suleiman. We can sit quite out of the sun up a little back
street under a wall, and away from everybody. I began the drawing
yesterday. See!" and I uncovered the canvas.

"Ah, Suleimanyeh! The most beautiful of all our mosques. Yes, certainly
I'll go."

Joe dug his knuckles into my thigh, under pretence of steadying
himself--he was squatting beside me like a fr