MY QUEST OF THE ARAB HORSE 



old crumbling grave-stones in the middle of 

 the town and then to the outskirts, and up to a 

 two-story stone and mud house. Our cavass 

 went inside, w^as gone five minutes, and re- 

 turned. We were taken upstairs to an inside 

 large room showing every sign of wealth. The 

 furniture was spotted with inlaid pearl, and 

 the divan, which ran all round the room, was 

 of purple plush with gold and silver ornaments. 

 Scattered over the divan were rifles that looked 

 ready for action. Before we had time to think 

 that this was strange, as only the soldiers were 

 allowed rifles, everybody else in the room stood 

 up and we too arose. Then slowly and with a 

 stride like that of Sir Henry Irving, a noble, 

 elderly looking Arab came forward. Any- 

 where he would have attracted instant atten- 

 tion. He looked like a bronze Grover Cleve- 

 land in his last years. His eyes fairly glowed 

 with smiles as he bowed low on the magnificent 

 silk rugs. This was Akmet Haffez, the ruling 

 Prince of all the Desert ! He took a seat on the 

 divan and as servants put soft pillows beside 

 him, he pointed to me to take a seat at his right. 

 His slippers fell carelessly off as he drew his 

 feet up under him in Turkish fashion. In- 

 stantly a slave was pouring into small thumb- 



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