“My son, above all keep the secret from a woman—from Pera; do not let her mischievous eyes draw you into her snare. She is bad, she is insolent to you; may her hair take fire!”
“But you know the proverb, a blow in the mouth from the hand of her we love is sweeter than raisins,” argued the youth.
“And you love her?” shrieked the old man.
Kareem nodded his head.
“Oh, ye fathers!” exclaimed Ibrahim; “but she will marry that budmash Mindoo.”
“She cares not for him, and I shall be rich.”
“Yes; and who has money in the scales, has strength in his arms. He who has no money is destitute of friends. Hearken, my son; Pera will spend your riches like flowing water.”
“Time enough to talk of spending when I possess them,” rejoined the lad, prudently.
“Fair son of my old age, give me your promise to keep the news from her; swear it by the beard of the Prophet.”
“I swear by the soul of my father; am I a child or a fool?” he demanded angrily.