THE SULTAN OF TURKEY 



the way just as the wheels grazed their hind 

 quarters, as we rode through the hot, foul 

 streets. Donkies, bearing heavy burdens, 

 were yelled at by our driver; we passed line 

 after line of soldiers, who all saluted; we 

 climbed hills, where the cobblestones were very 

 rough; we saw troops; we passed an officer 

 mounted on a horse that showed much Arab 

 blood. Finally we came to outposts through 

 which few passed, but we drove on and on, 

 passing line after line of strict guards. As we 

 passed along, the fences and gates were more 

 heavily plated with gold, and at last we ar- 

 rived at the wing of the Palace facing the 

 street. In the reception room, properly 

 dressed diplomats stood as stiff as iron statu- 

 ary on old-fashioned country estates. We 

 nudged ourselves with elbows as we saw people 

 recognize that this, that, or the other, of our 

 garb, was borrowed. We felt that the whole 

 Turkish Army, which had been drawn up in 

 review outside the Palace, knew it. Still, in 

 our awkward manner, we thought that the 

 army, at least, might think we were diplomats 

 from some countries that they had not heard of. 

 As we were being presented to high Turk- 

 ish officials, Moore nearly dropped the bor- 



[33] 



