These stories aroused the followers of “the true faith” to a high pitch of resentment against all “infidels” in the city at that time. Foreign visitors were warned against appearing on the streets, as they were almost certain to be insulted, roughly treated, and possibly slain.
The foreigners stopping at the German hotel were greatly alarmed. Many of them were planning to get out of the city as soon as possible. Some had heard the early mutterings of the storm and departed on the train for Beirut that day.
Professor Z. Gunn was in a state of great distress. He found Dick Merriwell and Brad Buckhart in earnest consultation in their room and seized each by an arm, exclaiming:
“This is what it has come to! You can see! We’re still in the sultan’s domain. There will be an uprising. These fanatical Mohammedans will massacre every Christian and foreigner they can find in the place! I feel it coming. The streets of Damascus will flow with blood before night!”
“You’re excited, professor,” said Dick.
“Excited!” squawked the old man, nearly losing his false teeth and clapping his hand over his mouth to keep them from popping out. “Ugh! Oogah-um! Cluck! Who wouldn’t be excited? There is something to get excited over. We’re almost certain to be murdered!”
“I hardly think,” said Merriwell, “that the Turks will carry it that far. We are citizens of the United States, with passports in our pockets, and the sultan would have trouble on his hands with Yankee Doodle Land if his subjects were to murder us.”
“You bet your boots!” put in Buckhart.
“But the sultan isn’t here to stop it,” spluttered Zenas. “The Turks are infuriated over the death of Hafsa Pasha. They are urging on all Moslemites in the city. None of them are counting on the consequences. They’ll do the killing first and consider the consequences afterward.”
“No one has been killed yet,” said Dick. “The authorities are doing their best to hold the fanatics in check.”