ammering on the door, creating a din so
infernal that the well-meaning traveller quickly tires of his bargain.
Following the instincts of the genuine Oriental, he conjures up the
genius of diplomacy to rid himself of his guest and the annoyance
occasioned by my presence.

"If you go outside and ride around the place once more," he says,
"Inshallah, the people will all go home."

This is a very transparent proposition--a broad hint, covered with
the thin varnish of Persian politeness. No sooner am I outside than the
door is locked, and the wily Yezdi has accomplished his purpose of
ousting me and thereby securing a little peace for himself. No
right-thinking person will blame him for turning me out; on the contrary,
he deserves much praise for attempting to take me in.

I now endeavor to render my position bearable by locking up the bicycle
and allowing the populace to concentrate their eager gaze on me, perching
myself on the roof in position to grant them a fair view. Swarms of
people come flocking up after me, evidently no more able to control their
impulse to follow than if they were so many bleating sheep following the
tinkling leadership of a bellwether or a goat. The caravanserai-jee begs
me to come down again, fearing the weight will cause the roof to cave in.
well-nigh at my wit's end what to do, I next take up a squatting position
in a corner and resign myself to the unhappy fate of being importuned to
ride, shouted at in the guttural tones of desert tribesmen, questioned in
unknown tongues, solicited for alms and schemed against and worried for
this, that, and the other, by covetous and evil-minded ruffians.

"The Ingilis have khylie pool-k-h-y-lie pool!" (much money) says one
ferocious-looking individual to his companion, and their black eyes
glisten and their fingers rub together feverishly as they talk, as if the
mere imagination of handling my money were a luxury in itself.

"He must have khylie pool if he is going all the way to
Hindostan-k-h-y-lie pool!" suggests another; and the coveteousness of
dozens of keenly interested listeners finds expression in "Pool, pool;
the Ingilis have khylie pool."

One eager ragamuffin brings me half-a-dozen sour and shrivelled oranges,
utterly worthless, for which he asks the outrageous sum of three kerans;
a second villainous-looking specimen worries me continuously to leave the
caravanserai and go with him somewhere. I never could make out where.

He looks the v