On the outskirts of the city they passed a group of Turkish villas, which looked very picturesque and attractive. These, they were told, were occupied by exiled officers of the Turkish government, who had committed offenses of some sort or had excited the distrust of the sultan. Instead of ordering them beheaded, their imperial master had sent them to Damascus, where they could be closely guarded.
Finally the train drew into the station at Damascus.
“Say, just have a look!” cried Brad. “I opine the whole town has turned out to meet us.”
There was a great crowd at the station—Arabs, Assyrians, Armenians, Turks, Jews, Greeks, Egyptians, and people from many desert tribes. They were all in a great tumult and uproar. A fence prevented them from crowding close to the track, but behind this fence they were packed thick as sardines in a box, staring, talking, pushing, gesticulating, and making a great hubbub.
“I wonder if this is the usual thing,” said Dick. “Perhaps some noted person is on this train.”
“Not likely that has brought them here,” declared the professor. “The arrival of a train is an event, and probably all the idle men in town rush to the station to see it come in.”
Their compartment door was flung open.
With alacrity the two boys descended to the platform.
“There they are!” cried a familiar voice that gave Buckhart a thrill.
“Oh, Dick! Hey, Brad!” called another voice.