THE PARABLE OF THE UNJUST STEWARD.
Now there was a certain rich man in those days, who kept a large inn on the American plan.
And the hegira from other lands over against Kabzul and Eder, and Breckinridge and Kinah, and Georgetown and Dimmonah, and Kedesh and Roaring Forks, and Hador and Ithnan, and the Gunnison country and Ziph, and Telem and Silver Cliff, Beoloth and Hadattah, and even beyond Hazar—Gadah and Buena Vista, was exceedingly simultaneous.
And throughout the country roundabout was there never before an hegira that seemed to hegira with the same hegira with which this hegira did hegira.
And behold the inn was overrun day by day with pilgrims who journeyed thither with shekels and scrip and pieces of silver.
And the inn-keeper said unto himself, "Go to;" and he was very wroth, insomuch that he tore his beard and swore a large, dark-blue oath about the size of a man's hand.
For behold the inn-keeper gat not the shekels, and he wist not why it was.
Now, it was so that in the inn was one Keno-El-Pharo, the steward, and he stood behind the tablets wherein the pilgrims did write the names of themselves and their wives and their sons and their daughters.
And Keno-El-Pharo wore purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day, and he drank the wines of one Mumm, and they were extra dry, and so even was Keno-El-Pharo from the rising of the sun until the going down thereof.