d a half
go to the 'quarter' peseta or franc of which six were offered.

"No, six and five is the lowest I can take."

The might-be purchaser made his last offer in a half-rising posture,
and is now nearly erect as he says, "Then I can't buy; give it me for
six and three," sitting down as though the bargain were struck.

"No, I never sell that quality for less than six and four, and it's a
thing I make no profit on; you know that."

The customer doesn't look as though he did, and rising, turns to go.

"Send a man to carry it away," says the dealer.

"At six and three!"

"No, at six and four!" and the customer goes away.

"Send the man, it is thine," is hastily called after him, and in a few
moments he returns with a Jewish porter, and pays his "six and three."

So our worthy trader does business all day, and seems to thrive on it.
Occasionally a friend drops in to chat and not to buy, and now and
then there is a beggar; here is one.

An aged crone she is, of most forbidding countenance, swathed in rags,
it is a wonder she can keep together. She leans on a formidable staff,
and in a piteous voice, "For the face of the Lord," and "In the name
of my Lord Slave-of-the-Able" (Mulai Abd el Kader, a favourite saint),
she begs something "For God." One copper suffices to induce her to
call down untold blessings on the head of the donor, and she trudges
away in the mud, barefooted, repeating her entreaties till they sound
almost a wail, as she turns the next corner. But beggars who can be
so easily disposed of at the rate of a hundred and ninety-five for a
shilling can hardly be considered troublesome.

A respectable-looking man next walks in with measured tread, and
leaning towards us, says almost in a whisper--

"O Friend of the Prophet, is there anything to-day?"

"Nothing, O my master," is the courteously toned reply, for the
beggar appears to be a shareef or noble, and with a "God bless thee,"
disappears.

A miserable wretch now turns up, and halfway across the yard begins to
utter a whine which is speedily cut short by a curt "God help thee!"
whereat the visitor turns on his heel and is gone.

With a confident bearing an untidy looking figure enters a moment
later, and after due salaams inquires for a special kind of cloth.

"Call to-morrow morning," he is told, for he has not the air of a
purchaser, and he takes his departure meekly.

A creaky voice here breaks in from round the corner--

"Hast thou n