MY QUEST OF THE ARAB HORSE 



A greater part of an hour must have passed, 

 while we could hear singing in the Mosque, and 

 as the Sultan came out, he kissed the hands of a 

 general of the Royal Guard and then half knelt 

 before him. The fine rug was re-spread on 

 the marble landing and a carriage was drawn 

 up that had previously gone to the Mosque 

 empty. It was a top-phaeton, drawn by two 

 white Arabian stallions, with long, artificial 

 like looking tails. They pranced, but were 

 well broken and behaved. Two grooms in gol- 

 den robes stood at their heads. There was a 

 pause and then everybody opened their mouths 

 and yelled. Guards on the marble stairway 

 began to bow, some knelt, and slowly this frail, 

 elderly man, with black coat and trousers, with 

 a golden vest that buttoned up under his 

 beard, came in sight. His fez was red, and 

 the only other color was in the small plain 

 bands of gold on each shoulder. He touched 

 his lips and forehead with his half-closed hand 

 and with the same mechanical stiffness. He 

 tarried on the stairway, looked across over the 

 tired looking city, turned half round, and saw 

 a thousand cavalry mounted on dapple-gray 

 horses, a thousand on black horses, a thousand 



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