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A DROLL TURKISH CARTER 297
While this httle comedy went on the Circassians
stalked slowly from the room with impassive faces,
their daggers and long-belted cloaks swinging to the
stride of men having their way. As the last man
disappeared the Ma7i- keeper, still gazing at the
orange, remarked " Like a Circassian ! " and then
asked how many glasses of tea had been supplied.
He was told fifteen, all with sugar, and that a packet
of cigarettes had been given as well.
Perhaps it was to compensate himself for this loss,
at the cost of Greeks and Armenians, that our host
now made another rapacious announcement : all who
meant to spend the night in the khcoi must pay seven
piastres in advance. His manner of sudden briskness
left no doubt that he was in earnest ; he demanded
the money at once and began to collect it in spite
of immediate clamour. But the Man -keeper was
adamant to all except his friends ; he had to deal
with folk now of whom he had no fear, and master
and man stood on no ceremony. It was pay or go,
and that forthwith. Faced with this alternative the
greater part of the company paid, but with bad grace
and a deal of hubbub.
One of the characters in the room was a Turkish
carter, a stoutish man of middle age. He slept much,
but between naps was always merry, and for his compatriots
had some quality of drollness beyond me to
comprehend. He scarcely spoke without causing
laughter, and even the self-respecting and dignified
telegraph -repairer—who counted as an official and
after myself had the best place in the room—smiled
gravely at his remarks from time to time. Suddenly
starting up from slumber during the afternoon he
had called for glasses. It was done so abruptly that
I could have thought him choking and in need of
water, till the barman handed him four very small
glass tumblers. Holding two in each hand, somewhat
in the manner of a street minstrel's " bones,"
he began to sing in a high falsetto voice, and accompanied
himself by skilfully clinking the tumblers.