As he got out of the araba he was hailed with shouts of welcome by the boys:
“Hip, hip, hip, ra, ra, ra, hip ra ré, bomba, bomba, C. T. C. (Central Turkey College).”
The boys of Aintab being students in an American institution, had adopted the American college custom of having their own peculiar yell.
Monsieur Bernier had a passion for travel, and after pocketing his university diploma, had set out for distant lands. He was very young, so young that some of his own pupils, great bearded fellows of twenty, looked older than he. He thanked the boys for their kind reception, and then followed President Mills to the house in which he was to live. For a long time he could hear from his room the “hip, hip, hip, ra, ra, ra,” shouted in his honor, and these expressions of welcome so cheered him up that from that first evening he felt a warm attachment for his pupils, which never altered.
That evening, the Sophomores were in their study-hall as usual, in charge of Mihran hodja, but as they had had a holiday in the afternoon, they were free to do as they pleased. Most of them were reading. Archag, Aram, and two of the Urfali were playing chess. Archag kept losing, and after a while gave up, tired of his bad luck.
“I’ve had enough of that,” said he; “ask Samouīl to take my place.” Samouīl agreed; he was a good player, but he found a formidable opponent in Aram, and the group soon became very much excited. Archag watched them for a moment, then went off to chat with Garabed in another corner of the room. Nejib was sitting near them, absorbed in a book.
“Hi, there,” said Archag, “what are you buried in so deep? You haven’t taken your eyes off your old book for the last hour.”
He drew near without ceremony, and read out the title of the book at the top of his voice: “The Arabian Nights!”
If a thunderbolt had fallen in the hall the boys could hardly have been more startled; they knew how severe Dr. Mills was upon any who read improper stories; and “The Arabian Nights” had a terrible reputation at Aintab.
Profound silence followed Archag’s imprudent words; the boys dared not breathe a syllable. Mihran hodja turned pale, went to Nejib and asked for his book. The boy handed it to him without a word, but he was as white as a ghost. The master turned over the leaves, hoping the book might prove to be an expurgated edition, put it in his pocket with a sigh, and left the room. When he had closed the door, Nejib flung himself upon Archag and gave him a vigorous box on the ear.